Beatae Memoriae
by sazz27
Summary: On a desolate alien planet, John Sheppard is lost in more ways than one.
1. Chapter 1

This is a long story that I've been working on for eons, and while it's still a work in progress, I can safely say that it's 80 percent written. I hope that those of you who choose to read this bear with me while I finish tweaking and writing the ending, and I will try to get the entire story posted as soon as possible. This is set in oh… let's say late season 2 and largely focuses on John, but I promise we'll see the Atlantis gang, particularly Rodney, very soon.

A _huge_ thank you to my brilliant and astonishingly patient co-pilot, beta and wonderful friend, for all her invaluable help with this story. And while I like my fics to jibe as much with canon as possible, I am not, nor will I ever be scientifically minded, so that being said, please pardon, or skim over any and all skiffy scientific mumbo-jumbo, and maybe, hopefully, suspend your disbelief. We all read fanfic for the characters anyway, right?

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters do not belong to me and are the rights of their respective owners. However, the original characters and wonky science are all mine.

Constructive feedback is always welcome and forever treasured.

* * *

The fierce wind whipped her long, white hair, the tangled strands catching in her eyes, obscuring her already cloudy vision. She almost stumbled past the dark shape on the ground, but then she noticed it was not, as she first presumed, a bundle of rags, nor was it a decayed animal carcass. The shape was that of a human, and by the breadth of the dirt-covered back and shoulders, she guessed it was a man.

Filled with a mingling of caution and anticipation, the woman stopped walking and stared openly at him. Even face down, she could see that the man was not of her own. He was a stranger, and strangers were no longer encountered in this harsh, occluded land.

Carefully, she pulled a dagger from the sheath on the waistband of her heavy cloak. Even now, curiosity, which had always been her downfall, still got the better of her, and she stepped closer to study the man's still form.

He lay with his legs splayed, all but buried in the dirt, his head turned to the side and cradled protectively in the crook of his arms. It looked as though he had been thrown some distance, and she pondered on that a moment, her clouded eyes darting to the cliff side some four yards away. Though her vision was too poor to make out any details, she had seen the rocky crevasse so many times its rough details were indelibly etched in her memory. Still puzzling, she redirected her attention to the man at her feet. His thick hair was more gray than dark, and she wondered if he were near as old as she was. She could see nothing of his face but the curve of a high, dust coated cheekbone. His visible ear was streaked with blood.

With the toe of her shoe, she none too gently nudged his shoulder. Nothing. She nudged him once more. Still no response. With an inexplicable sense of disappointment, she wondered if he might be dead. Where had he come from? She knew full well that there were no longer any settlers but those of her own village on this land, and that no others had been banished here in decades. This made her smile wryly – the fact that no others had come in so long hadn't stopped her regular pilgrimages to the cliff side where they had all turned up. _Just in case, _she had told herself over the long years. _Just in case…_ How many times, trudging back from one more fruitless visit, had she had cursed herself a sentimental fool?

And now… perhaps not so sentimental after all, she thought with a measure of satisfaction.

Wincing at the interminable pain in her side, dagger still in hand, she crouched beside the man and shoved him onto his back. He was so limp it was easy to turn him over, despite the fact that she was no longer a strong woman. One dusty arm fell bonelessly across his chest, and now that she could fully see his face and hairline, she realized her error – the man was not old, at all. In fact, he was still young, in his prime. His thick hair, which stood on end in disarray, was not graying; it was dark brown, almost black in color, only matted with the interminable dust and dirt of the terrain. The lower half of his face was caked with dirt-clotted blood that had come from his nostrils, and more of it had trickled from his other ear, trailing the length of his jaw and neck. Sand and more dirt had caught in the corners of his deep-set eyes and his eyelashes. She tried to wipe them clean, in case he woke.

"Tosia!"

The sound of her named being called from a distance gave the woman no pause in her scrutiny of the stranger. She laid her hand on his chest, noting his strange clothing – some sort of heavy vest of armor, a dark green jacket and black shirt beneath. After a moment, she determined he was still breathing, the chest rising and falling with such shallow motions that it was scarcely discernible. Her gnarled, arthritic thumb rested in the hollow of his throat, and she could feel his slow but steady pulse, the life still resolutely beating within him. That discovery sent a thrill of hope through her.

"Tosia, where are you?"

Without turning in the direction of the fearful, masculine voice, she finally shouted a reply. "I am here, Antal!"

Momentarily, a tall, burly young man trotted over to her. Though he had seen twenty-four winters, Antal's cognitive abilities had not developed much beyond that of a ten-year-old child's. Years back, Tosia had once unkindly thought that Antal's alarming pubescent growth spurt had occurred so rapidly that it had left no room for his mind to catch up. Even still, Tosia loved the young man as fiercely as though he were of her own blood, and his loyalty and fortitude were near equal to her own.

"What did you find?" Antal asked, crouching beside her. His was a curiosity that again matched Tosia's, further strengthening their kinship. His dark eyes widened when he saw for himself. "Where did he come from?"

Tosia, noting the apprehension in Antal's gaze and voice, smiled and patted him on the forearm. "I do not know, so it appears that we have an interesting puzzle to solve, do we not?"

Antal stared at Tosia's scarred, battered face, then nodded and smiled broadly once he comprehended her meaning. Like a child, the unknown was something wondrous instead of frightening to him.

"Can you carry him, Antal?" Tosia asked.

Antal nodded again, and without hesitation, gathered the stranger in his strong arms, his motions uncommonly gentle for a man of his size. The stranger's head lolled over the crook of Antal's elbow, the long legs dangled limp, and the trio headed back for the village, bowed against the incessant wind.

* * *

-- tbc --


	2. Chapter 2

The spectacle of Tosia, Antal and the stranger returning to the outskirts of the village did not go unnoticed. A few of Tosia's people, as she possessively liked to think of them, emerged from their huts, the women hesitant, the men territorial as dogs.

Two of the bolder men, Silas and Urvan, who had been visiting at another hut, made to follow into the home Tosia shared with Antal and his mother, Lasca. Tosia turned and glared at the men, with a single look chastising them for their presumptuousness. No one entered her home uninvited. Tosia had always been firm on that arrangement, and this day was no exception.

Silas ground his jaw, watched through the doorway as Antal carried the stranger inside, then paused, uncertain what to do with him.

"Where did you find that one?" Silas demanded, dark eyes flashing. "And what business do you have bringing him here?"

Tosia raised her chin, and though he was much taller then herself, met Silas in the eye. "I found him outside the village, and my business is my own, Silas." She waved her arm the direction of the few other villagers who had clustered near her home. "I will tell you all more later, when he wakens, but right now, he needs tending to, and he does not require an audience."

With that, she stepped over the threshold of her home, shut and latched the door in Silas's scowling face. There were certain advantages to attaining esteemed elder status, she supposed. It was certainly much more satisfying than quietly growing old. She saw that Lasca had already dragged a pallet to the main room on which Antal laid the stranger.

Lasca prepared rags and poured water into a bucket, and together, she and Tosia began cleaning the blood and grime from the stranger's face and washed as much of the dirt as they could from his thick, surprisingly soft hair. Tosia pondered over the layers of clothing he wore, but they had at least protected him somewhat from the elements.

Setting her speculations aside for the time being, Tosia helped Lasca carefully remove the strange articles, pulling him to a near sitting position and fumbling with the unfamiliar fastenings. They first removed his vest and jacket to find that the sand had even crept beneath the long-sleeved black shirt he wore underneath, and so they removed that, as well.

When they eased him back down, Tosia noticed the holster strapped to his thigh. Ignoring the twinge in her fingers, she unbuckled the strap before Lasca could and grasped the handle of the device it harnessed. Sliding it out a few inches, she immediately recognized what it was. She had not seen a weapon of this kind in decades, but the cold, hard metal of the gun in her hand sent a chill up her spine.

How the gun had even come through with the stranger was another mystery. Tosia hadn't thought it possible that such a dangerous and primitive tool would even be allowed in this place of exile. She wondered if her speculations were misplaced, but how else would he have come to be here? And this place had no means for creating weapons of such kind…

"What is that?" Lasca asked, looking at the gun in the old woman's hands with curious puzzlement.

"Nothing to be concerned with," Tosia said with a dismissive shrug and kept her expression carefully neutral. She tucked the harness and the gun in the folds of the vest and jacket she had placed beside her. Once Lasca and Antal were asleep, she would dispose of the weapon. She found it surprising that it did not cause her to fear or mistrust the man. Instead, it only heightened her curiosity of his origins. She decided that she would look through the pockets of his vest and jacket later, as well. Perhaps they would give her some clues.

Throughout their ministrations, the stranger did not waken, nor did he stir at the indignity of being stripped of the rest of his clothing and dressed in a too-large nightshirt of Antal's. The women could determine no visible injuries, though the blood that had spilled from the man's nose and ears suggested a fearful wound much too deep to be treated.

Lasca wiped the last traces of blood from his oddly and slightly pointed ears, and in a soft voice, as though she were afraid of disturbing him, she said, "He is very handsome, do you not think?"

Tosia was not surprised by the query. Though Lasca, whom the old woman had always considered a daughter, was far beyond the age of girlish crushes, she'd always held a fondness for pretty things, and such things were uncommon in this desolate place.

"Beauty is but a dangerous illusion, daughter," Tosia reminded her. _And transitory,_ her mind added. Tosia knew that all too well. She was far from beautiful herself these days. But once, a long time ago, she'd possessed the kind of attractiveness that had turned heads in her wake. Back then, she had been very proud of her good looks and had no qualms about using its power – it was a human weakness to be drawn to glamour and Tosia had taken full advantage of that frailty.

Now, she knew the fates had punished her for that conceit. There were no mirrors in this place, but the calm waters of the lake served well enough. Sometimes, she would stare at her watery reflection, studying the scar that ran from her brow and creased the lid of her left eye so tightly that it was pulled nearly shut. The scar continued down her face, tracing her cheekbone and catching at the corner of her mouth like a fishhook, pulling it somewhat askew. The surrounding skin was crinkled and roughened, the healed, burned tissue trailing down her neck and stopping at her collarbone. The right side of her face, however, was untouched, a cruel reminder of that fairness, marred only by age.

Looking at the man resting on the pallet, Tosia had to secretly agree that he was indeed handsome, his features finely drawn, perhaps almost too pretty for a man, she thought. She wondered what color his eyes were behind those slightly hooded, bruised lids.

Tosia was once more about to give in to insatiable curiosity and peel back his eyelid to see for herself, when the man's features contorted. His brows knitted together, and a soft groan escaped his slightly parted lips. He tossed his head a few times, and more blood ran from his nose in a thin trickle, tracing the curve of his upper lip before Tosia was able to wipe it away. She held the rag lightly under his nose until the bleeding once more stopped, but he was still fretful. His eyes rolled under their lids, his breaths rapid, fingers scrabbling at the rough, heavy blanket they'd draped over him.

As she had done with Lasca, Antal, and numerous other children over the years, Tosia laid her hand on the man's forehead and stroked his pain-creased brow with her thumb. The soothing touch began to settle him and he quieted, drifting into a deeper sleep.

Tosia then reached for the strange metal necklace he wore – it had intrigued her when she'd first seen it, but she had not removed it, suspecting it may be of sentimental value to him. Perhaps it even offered a comfort she did not wish to deny him. Tracing the deep embossing on the metal with a fingertip, she discovered that the inlaid shapes were letters. She had to press her face nearly to his chest and against the metal warmed by his skin to make the letters out, her lips silently forming the syllables.

He made a soft, distressed sound and turned his face away from her, as though aware of her close proximity. Tosia wondered what unforgivable crime this man had committed to be sentenced to this place, to this fate. This man, judging by the letters on the necklace, called John C. Sheppard.

--- tbc ---


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: the Stargate Atlantis characters are not mine, etc. etc. And now... back to our story:

* * *

Tosia, always a light sleeper, woke with a start at the sound of a strangled cry. She sat up so quickly her spine twinged in protest, and her hips complained with their familiar ache. Fumbling for her light, one of the few luxuries she had found from her old life, she switched it on, and carrying it with her, stumbled to the main room where they had left the stranger to rest.

The pallet on which he had been laying was empty. He was gone.

Tosia was about to call for Lasca when she spotted him. The stranger had huddled in the corner by the cold hearth, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Even from a distance, and with her poor eyesight, Tosia could see the tremors reverberating through his slender frame. She edged closer to him, not wishing to frighten him any further. When she reached his side, the blue-tinged light from her lamp fell on his face. The eyes she had so wanted to see were now wide open, blank with what she first assumed was terror, then after watching him for a moment, realized it was something far worse.

Tosia placed the lamp on the floor. Ignoring the ache in her hips and side, she sat beside him, gauging his reactions, but he seemed unaware of her presence. Moving her hand in cautious increments, she laid her palm on his shoulder, feeling the tremors that coursed through him. In the glow of the blue light, his eyes were a pretty shade of pale green, but there was no comprehension, nor expression in his gaze. His features were slack; lips slightly parted and damp with spittle, his breaths sharp rasps in the otherwise silent room.

Rubbing her hand on his trembling shoulder in what she hoped was a soothing motion, Tosia tried to coax the man to look at her, to respond to her, all to no avail.

_John_, she reminded herself, _his name is John_. She presumed that shepherd had been his previous station. When she positioned herself directly in front of him, his vacant gaze went right through her, as though he were staring at a place just past her left shoulder.

"John?" she tried, but there was no response to the moniker. Repeating his name in a firmer voice, Tosia took hold of his chin to turn his face toward her. He violently flinched from her insistent touch, pulling away so abruptly the back of his head thudded against the wall, a mingled sound of pain and protest escaping his lips. An arm upraised in a warding-off gesture.

"I am sorry, John," she whispered. "I did not mean to frighten you. It is all right. No harm will come to you here. It's all right…"

John did not seem to mind, or perhaps he did not notice her gentle rubbing of his shoulder and lightly muscled upper arm, so she continued that attempt to soothe him. He began to rock himself in a traumatized manner Tosia had witnessed far too many times over the years, as though the continuous movement offered him a comfort her touch couldn't provide.

However, Tosia had never before seen such reaction to the passage through the portal. It made her begin to again wonder if it were truly the instrument in bringing him here. The others, as well as Tosia, herself, had been frightened, disoriented at first from the shock of their own transition, but they'd all recovered in a matter of minutes.

Perhaps he had already been maddened before the punishment? Then she remembered how far from the cliff side she had found him, as though he had been expelled like some foul-tasting mouthful. Perhaps he had somehow been injured along the way? The fearful bleeding suggested as much, but even still, Tosia could not work her head around the possibilities…

"Is he all right?"

Tosia looked up at the sound of Lasca's concerned whisper, and then redirected her focus to John. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion as he continued to rock. With each blink, his eyes stayed closed for longer amounts of time, but he fought against sleep, with a start, forcing the weary, hooded lids to open, his empty gaze remaining fixed on that spot behind Tosia's shoulder. She was almost tempted to look behind her, but Tosia knew whatever demons he may have beheld were not in this hut.

"No," Tosia said after a long moment, looking into those pretty, but frighteningly blank eyes. "I do not think he is all right, at all."

"What shall we do with him?" Lasca asked, her worried gaze flicking from the old woman to the stranger.

Tosia watched as John curled up in a tighter ball, gripping his legs so hard that the tendons stood out on his wrists. The tremors had eased, but he was now shivering with cold. "Bring me that blanket," Tosia said, waving an arm in the direction of the abandoned pallet.

When Lasca handed her the blanket, Tosia, careful not to startle John again, tucked its warmth as much as she could around his huddled form. He flinched, but did not pull away.

"Mother, what are we to do with him?" Lasca repeated.

"We shall keep him warm and comfortable."

"That is not what I was asking…" Lasca said, her frustration with Tosia's curt replies evident in her voice.

"That is all there is to be done," Tosia said without looking at the other woman. It was pointless to worry over matters of which one had no control. And there was nothing that could be done about John – he would recover on his own, or he would perish. It was as simple as that.

John's head began to nod, and his body slumped against the corner. He was nearly asleep once more, though he still managed to force his eyelids open from time to time, and his fingers continually twitched under the blanket.

"Go back to sleep, Lasca. I will sit with him."

Lasca nodded, though the old woman could not see her. She knew from experience there was no point in questioning Tosia when she had made up her mind. From the other room, Lasca retrieved the old woman's own blanket from her bed, returned with it, and draped it over her mother's shoulders. Tosia nodded in thanks, patted Lasca's hand and the younger woman disappeared back to her bedroom.

It took a long time, so long that Tosia's knees began to ache abominably and her hips were fiery with pain, but finally, John could no longer fight the sleep that insistently pulled him under. His chin dropped to his chest. His tight grip on his legs loosened, but his fingers continued to fidget under the blanket, plucking at the wool, as though he were still trying to claw his way back to consciousness.

He would live, or he would die, Tosia reminded herself, yet she couldn't help but admire his fortitude. She also couldn't withhold a measure of hope that he would somehow endure.

--- tbc ---


	4. Chapter 4

Wow! Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! You realize that you're only encouraging this obsession, don't you? I love it, and your kind words are _very_ much appreciated. Sorry the previous chapters were so short - here's a longer one to make up for it:

* * *

Morning came much too quickly. It seemed as though she'd closed her eyes for but a moment when the sounds of Antal moving about their small hut woke her. Tosia had dragged John's pallet over to the corner, managed to pull him back onto it before returning to her own bed, seemingly only minutes ago.

As the occupants of the hut went about their daily tasks and morning became afternoon, the stranger had shown no signs of wakening. The sleep he had so desperately fought against would not release him.

Throughout the day, Tosia and Lasca each took turns trying to coax John to drink some broth. They pressed a cup against his lips until he stirred enough to swallow small amounts of liquid carefully poured into his mouth before falling back into a deep sleep.

It was late afternoon when a sudden rap on the door startled them, and Tosia knew she would have to offer her people some explanation, though she had none. She nodded to Antal to open the door to reveal Silas and Urvan – the two self-appointed guardians of the village. Tosia prayed for patience with them. She regarded Silas as a bully and Urvan a hapless and acquiescent follower. Even still, she granted the men entrance.

Silas stomped in, tracking dirt and mud on the clean floor, Urvan following close on the other man's heels. Silas tramped to the stranger still sleeping on his bed on the floor, and stared down at him in cold scrutiny. Antal glowered at Silas and positioned himself close to John, already protective of the injured man.

Dismissing Antal by turning his back to the young man, Silas gestured toward Tosia with impatience. "Well? Where did he come from? You promised answers, Tosia."

"I do not know yet where he came from, Silas." Tosia said, impervious to the man's menacing glare. "He is still very weak. It will take some time."

"This is madness!" Silas sputtered. "No strangers have come to this land in as long as I can remember! He could be of the old tribe, for all we know! He could bring the Wraith down upon us!"

"The Wraith come when they wish to come. We have no party in their wrath," she replied, resolute and firm. "And we have seen nothing of any other tribes in decades – they are likely all gone by now."

"Oh, so certain are you?" Silas waved his hand over the stranger. "Then how do you explain _him_?"

"I cannot."

"You cannot, or you _will_ not?" Silas glared at her. "At least tell us where you found him."

Tosia narrowed her eyes, deciding how best to answer. Her pilgrimages to the cliff side were no one's business but her own. Antal would sometimes followed protectively close behind her, but she never once told the young man what it was she continually hoped to find there. Finally, she answered Silas with a short version of the truth.

"As I said before, I found him injured and outside the village. That is all I know. Perhaps you are right," she amended more for peace, than agreement. "Perhaps some of the old tribe _do_ still exist."

"If that is true then you've no right to decide to bring his kind in our midst. He is not one of us, he has no business among us."

"Is that so?" Tosia said, glancing at John for a moment. "He lives, he breathes, he feels, as do we. Does that not make him one of us?"

"You could say the same thing of animal," Silas sneered.

"My eyesight is not what it used to be, so I may be mistaken, but he looks very human to me," Tosia said, raising an eyebrow. Silas's face reddened, so she spoke before the man could protest again. "Are you suggesting that I should have left him out there to die, Silas? Is that what we have become?"

Silas did not answer, but Tosia suspected that was exactly what he wished she had done. Urvan shifted behind the other man, his normally bland features pinched with discomfort. Tosia thought these men's grandparents would be ashamed of them.

Tosia then took a deep breath and reminded herself of the error of passing judgment. Reminded herself of the virtue of patience. She had been present at both Silas and Urvan's births, seen them grow from infants to men. Witnessed their own parents' births. She knew their pasts and their prejudices.

To these sheltered people with whom she'd lived for so many years, the stars were merely bright lights in the sky one could make a wish upon. Tosia remembered when she had found her lamp in the ruins so many years ago – her people had deemed it a fearful instrument of magic until she'd demonstrated that its light source came from a simple energy cell, not witchcraft. All these people had ever known and had ever seen existed within this village, within the few miles of terrain they dared to explore, still fearful of the far-too recent legends of Wraith attacks. No, they thought it safer to keep a low profile, and from their history, who could blame them? Tosia certainly should not. She knew too well the destruction the Wraith had brought to her own world.

Their narrow-mindedness was not their fault, she reminded herself. These people were innocents, and Tosia was party to condemning them to such a state. She had no right to judge them harshly.

"Silas, Urvan," Tosia began, choosing her words carefully, "We have always endeavored to practice compassion amongst ourselves. If that compassion does not extend toward strangers, then we are no better than animals. We are worth nothing."

Silas opened his mouth in argument, but Tosia held up a hand and again spoke before he could. "If this man is of another tribe, then he _is _one of us. Our very village is made up of such tribes joining together, becoming as one, a family." And in a strange way, she thought, that was the most truth she had ever spoken of this land's strange history. "I promise you, this man will be my sole responsibility. That is, if he even recovers."

Urvan shifted his gaze to John's still form and spoke for the first time. "Is he very ill?"

"Yes," Tosia replied, nodding. "He cannot harm a child in his present state, so there is no cause for alarm. Tell the others they are welcome to come see him once he is fully awake, but no sooner than that."

Silas considered her words then nodded, apparently satisfied for the moment. As one, he and Urvan turned and left the small hut, shutting the door quietly behind them.

---A---

Night had fallen, and Tosia, Lasca and Antal sat at their small table in front of the roaring hearth, finishing their evening meal. Each were quiet, lost in their own thoughts.

All three jumped at the sudden scream.

They turned as John bolted upright, another rasping, wordless cry tearing from his throat. Desperate to escape whatever demons haunted him and with surprising speed, he clambered from his bed and found the door more by luck than direction. His hands fumbled at the latch, but his legs were too unsteady to support him. He fell against the door with a thump.

Lasca reached him first and attempted to calm him, but John twisted from her grasp, throwing himself against the door hard enough to cause bruises.

Antal rushed over, caught John around his waist just as he hurled himself at the door again, pulling him off his feet and carrying him back to his bed. John thrashed and bucked in the young man's strong grip. Bare legs kicking at Antal, he let loose a high-pitched, furious howl.

"Keep hold of him, Antal!" Tosia shouted while cautiously approaching them.

Antal nodded and sat down on the pallet with a grunt, pulling a struggling John with him. He wrapped his thick arms over John's chest, pinning the other man's flailing arms to his sides. Though he was still weakened, fear and adrenaline gave John added strength, and Antal had to strain to keep hold of him without hurting him. He placed his powerful legs over John's slimmer ones, preventing him from accidentally kicking the old woman.

With Lasca looking helplessly on, Tosia crouched in front of the two men. John strained against Antal's grip, and his cries became panicked when he realized that he couldn't break free.

"John," Tosia tried his name again, hoping for more response than the last time. His eyes were no longer blank, but wild, rolling in their sockets, unable to focus on anything. "John, look at me," Tosia ordered. She placed both hands on either side of his face, not allowing him to pull away this time. "Look at me!" He arched his back, jerked his head to the side, snarling in protest, but she tightened her grip on his face, moving in closer, so near she could feel his breath on her face. "John, you are all right. You are safe. _Look _at me, John!"

Finally, the wide, maddened eyes fixed on hers. The intensity and terror she saw in their depths was startling, even for one as inured as Tosia. John's chest heaved with harsh, sobbing breaths, tears spilled down his cheeks, his entire body tensed, but his frantic gaze did not stray from hers.

"That's it," Tosia encouraged, and though it was difficult to stare into those crazed eyes, she did not look away, even for a second. "We are only trying to help you, John. You have nothing to fear from us. You are safe."

John's struggles began to weaken as his strength gave out. He sagged against Antal's chest, his breath hitching, muscles trembling. Tosia loosened her grip on his stubbled jaw and gently stroked his face, dismayed by the faint red impressions her fingers had left on his skin.

"Shh, it is all right. You are safe," she repeated over and over, keeping her clouded eyes on his bright hazel ones, wiping away the tears staining his face.

Antal released John's arms in small increments, unsure of his reactions, but all the fight had gone out of him. Tosia nodded for Antal to fully release the man, which he did, but he remained close.

After a moment, John raised a shaking hand toward Tosia's face. His long fingers very lightly traced the ragged scar, then twined in the silver hair falling over her shoulders. It seemed as though he were testing the reality of her presence, but there was no way of knowing how aware he was of his surroundings.

Tosia laid her hand on top of his, then gently pulled it away from her hair, but kept his trembling hand firm in her gnarled grasp. His fingers tightened around hers, gripping her hand as though it were a lifeline.

"You are going to be all right, John," Tosia reassured him once more, still holding his hand, still looking into his eyes even though his gaze was beginning to wander, losing its intense focus. He pulled his legs tight against his chest, and like he had done the night before, began to rock, the fingers of his free hand scrabbling at the hem of his nightshirt.

When Tosia called his name again, his gaze flicked in her direction, and very softly, he echoed the same syllable. Tosia hoped his reaction was a sign of progress and allowed herself to believe he would, in fact, recover, and the reason for his presence here would be revealed.

Tosia did not believe in coincidences. After so many decades of exile, with no break in the monotony of her existence, this man had appeared, and he had come to this place with a purpose. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name. Just what that purpose entailed, Tosia couldn't begin to guess, nor would she even try.

It would be revealed to her in time, as all things were.

* * *

--- tbc ---


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Not my lovely Atlantis characters, though I do like to take them out to play once in a while.

And you guys are awesome! Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews. I'm especially and particularly thrilled that you're enjoying and are so curious about Tosia – I honestly hadn't planned on her figuring so prominently in this story, but she turned out to be a feisty one. At the same time, don't worry, I won't neglect poor John and the rest of the gang. And if I don't update for a few days, it's not because I'm holding out on you, I'll either be hucking my _very_ cranky, crashing laptop out the nearest window, or (more likely) trying to reformat the hard drive. I _hope_ it will be smooth sailing, but my computer troubleshooting skills are about on par with my science… yah… Cross fingers, and I do promise to update as soon as I can.

And here we go, on with the show:

* * *

John stumbled as he paced, his odd, slightly tiptoed gait throwing him off balance on the blasted terrain. He wandered a short distance from Antal's perch on the rocky ground, then stopped. His head tilted as though he were listening to something far off in the distance, his fingers pulling at the hem of his untucked shirt.

It had been over a week since John's arrival, and the villagers had taken turns coming to the hut to greet him, or as Tosia scornfully put it, 'to gawk at the stranger.' Once they were able to see him with their own eyes, the villagers' fear of John transmuted to curiosity then finally uneasy dismissal when it appeared as though his mental capacity was well below that of even Antal's.

While John could be coaxed to eat and drink, and would sometimes respond to simple commands, he didn't appear to follow conversations and had yet to speak a single word since that second night. There were days when he all he would do was sit huddled on the floor of the hut, motionless and staring at nothing. Some days, he would gently rock himself, hands and fingers constantly in motion, twining and plucking at his clothing. Once in a while, he would stagger to his feet only to pace in awkward, relentless circles in the small main room, ignoring, or oblivious to any attempts to distract him.

And sometimes, like this day, John would follow close behind Antal while the younger man performed his chores, giving Lasca and Tosia uninterrupted time for their own tasks. This was the first time Antal had brought John to the ruins though – it was Antal's favorite place of escape when he had some free time all to himself.

Looking up from his whittling of a stick of wood, Antal gazed at the surroundings he had seen countless times. A broad area of flattened ground, blasted into the hilly landscape that was further marred by the scant remains of some metallic structure. The force of the old destruction had all but leveled what was left of the structure, nearly erasing it from history. Once in a while though, even after all these years, if he dug around long enough in the muck, Antal would find brightly colored clear stones, or scraps of small pieces of twisted metal, and what Tosia called plastic, bent and twisted into unusual shapes. The very air was tainted with the aura of desolation, and the scent of ash was still detectable if the wind was blowing in the right direction, but beneath that, there was also a deep sense of mystery to the place. And that mystery was what continually attracted Antal.

"What do you think this all used to be?" he asked John, not expecting an answer, but enjoying the fresh air and the company – usually he had to do his exploring alone. "A long time ago, I asked Tosia what she thought, and Tosia's almost the oldest person in the world, so if anyone would know, she would," Antal continued, "but she says it was like this long before even _she_ was born." He looked at John, who had resumed his pacing, his gaze fixed on the uneven ground. "I do not believe it, but Tosia says it's very dangerous to come here, so this has to be a secret, all right, John?"

Ignoring Antal, John took a few more steps away from him, carefully walking on the toes of his boots. He stopped dead in his tracks and dropped to his knees. Leaning forward, he ducked his head nearly to the muck and debris on the ground, brows knitted in a frown, hands splayed in the dirt. His fingers scrabbled at the soil until he found the object that had caught his eye. Brushing away the dirt, he revealed a small, ragged, metallic shard, its dotted etching so faded and timeworn it was nearly invisible.

Chewing on his upper lip and frowning with confusion, John ran his fingers over the faint succession of dots, which formed a symbol that niggled something at the back of his scrambled mind. His senses alerted, his heart jackhammered, and a part of him knew what the symbol was, what the shard used to be, but he couldn't think past the incessant clamor in his head. Countless voices screamed at him in hateful condemnation, begged in terror for someone to hear their pleas. When he closed his eyes for even a moment, thousands upon thousands of fractured, terrifying faces and images vied for his attention, and it was all too much to take in. He didn't want to see them anymore. Didn't want to listen to their voices anymore.

Then a single, familiar sounding voice, louder than the rest, screamed at him to remember, to do _something, _but he couldn't obey it, couldn't think. He pushed the shard deep into the mud with a frustrated shout. Scooping up handfuls of dirt, he piled it over the piece of metal until it was completely covered.

Hiding the shard quieted the insistent voices somewhat but it didn't stop the humming in his ears. The humming that had suddenly started up as soon as Antal brought him to this place. John ducked his head and roughly rubbed his ear on his shoulder. It didn't help, the humming was setting his teeth on edge, and he clamped his hands tight over his ears, trying to shut the offending noise out.

"Stopstopstopstopit…" he whispered under his breath, curling his upper body over his bent legs.

Antal looked up at John's distress. "John? What's the matter? Did you hurt yourself?"

Dropping his hands from his ears when they only began to ring from the pressure on them, John shook his head from side to side in what Antal took to be negation. The younger man shrugged, and redirected his attention to the stick of wood that he'd decided to try carving in the shape of a winged creature Tosia had described to him once.

Something gleaming in the black dirt caught John's attention – something he had unwittingly brought to the surface when reburying the shard. It was thin, square, clear as ice, and smooth against his roughened palm when he picked it up. He rubbed the crystal over his shirt to clean it, then held it up to his eye. Peering through the translucent surface, the tepid sunlight and pale blue sky gleamed against it, bright enough to make him squint.

Again, something flashed in his mind's eye. With his free hand, John tore at his already disheveled hair, as though he could forcibly pry some cognition from his addled senses. The single voice spoke up again, only it was gentler this time, and John tried to understand it, tried to listen to it. The crystal was important, the voice told him. It was something he might need. Someone he knew would want this.

He carefully laid the crystal in his palm, and found that the humming sound didn't bother him so much anymore. If fact, if he concentrated on it, all the other voices faded, and he could finally tune them out.

Antal noticed that John had become completely still, his hand cupped in front of him. He trotted over to the other man to see what he had found. Antal grinned when he saw what John held.

"I found one of those once, too," Antal told him. "You can keep it, but do not show it to Tosia. She will get angry with you." Antal reached for the crystal, but John clenched his hand in a tight fist, tucking it to his chest and curling his body around his new treasure.

Antal shook his head and patted at the pocket on John's pant leg. "Keep it in there," Antal instructed. "We do not want Tosia to see it, all right? It'll be a secret."

John looked up at that, and his clear, hazel eyes fixed on Antal's for a long moment. Antal had overheard his mother telling Tosia that she found it unsettling when John did that, but Antal didn't mind. John was just sorting through the stuff in his head because it was sometimes hard to figure people out. Antal understood that all too well.

"See… cret," John echoed, and slowly, frowning with concentration, he slid his hand into his pocket, tucking the crystal inside. With fumbling, clumsy motions, he refastened the button to keep it secure.

"That's _good!"_ Antal praised, and patted John on the shoulder as though he were a dog that had just performed a particularly difficult trick. "And see! I _knew _you could talk. You're just quiet, is all. Nothing wrong with being quiet. Tosia says most people talk just to hear the sound of their own voices anyhow."

Then he looked up at the sky. The sun had lowered; it was late afternoon, and growing colder with a fine, icy mist filling the air. "We must get back now, John." With that, he stood and gripped John's arm to pull him upright. John resisted, keeping his legs limp, rendering his body heavy, like a reluctant child.

"John we must go! Mother will have dinner on the table soon," Antal protested, insistently pulling at the other man. John tried to yank his arm free, but Antal held firm. Straining to reach with his free hand, John scrabbled in the dirt until he found the shard again, and shoved it in the front pocket of his pants. Antal, growing impatient, reached around the slimmer man's chest, and hauled him to his feet. "We can come back tomorrow, all right, John? But it is time to go home now."

Pulling John along by the elbow, Antal was oblivious to the other man continually turning his head back in the direction of the ruins. John stumbled a few steps behind, unwilling to follow, but had no choice other than to keep putting one foot in front of the other or get dragged along by the strong, enthusiastic younger man who had only his waiting dinner on his mind.

Once home, Lasca fussed over the state of John's muddy clothing and his dirt-encrusted hands. Antal told his mother than John had fallen, which she didn't question. Tosia said nothing but she knew the young man well enough to recognize when he was withholding something.

Late that night, the hut silent and still around her, Tosia sat alone in front of the glowing embers in the hearth, studying the bulky communication device she had found in John's vest. She had turned it on earlier that day when Lasca had gone to do the washing by the lake, only to be rewarded with a loud burst of static. Over the last few days, Tosia had turned the device on countless times, always with the same result. The first time she'd heard the hiss of dead air, it had startled her so badly she'd nearly dropped the thing on her foot. She didn't know what she was hoping to gain by continually checking the device, but that didn't stop her from listening attentively each and every time she allowed herself to activate it.

Again, she wondered why John would possess such an archaic tool, and why the others had allowed it to come through. He would have no use for such things here.

She turned to look at John as he turned over in his bed, muttering in his sleep. He kicked at his blanket, uncovering his twitching legs. It had been a difficult night for him. He'd refused to eat or drink anything and had tucked himself in the corner by the hearth once more, rocking, holding his hands over his ears, staring at the floor in front of him – effectively shutting them out.

Like he had done the first night, he'd resisted sleep until he could no longer keep his eyes open, and Tosia began to wonder what had truly happened that afternoon. She knew Antal hadn't been forthcoming about their whereabouts – Antal had never been able to lie very well –but she'd decided to hold off questioning him until the morning, and had kept a close eye on John instead. His setback was disconcerting.

Pulling herself stiffly from her chair, Tosia limped over to John's bed. She crouched down to pull the blanket back over him – the nights were growing colder, and the last thing he needed was a chill. But before she could cover him, John moaned and sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes rolling under their lids. When she noticed that his dark lashes were spiked with unshed tears, a mingled wave of sympathy and uncharacteristic regret swept over her. Regret that she had found him, and that his presence had rekindled such a deep sense of unrest within her.

"Stop being an old fool," she chastised herself, muttering under her breath. "You cannot change what has already been done." She swiftly tucked the blanket back over John's restless form, then smoothed his dark hair from his forehead until he quieted.

When she stood to go to her own bedroom and finally retire for the night, she noticed that his dirt covered green pants were balled up on the floor beside the pallet. Without thinking, she picked them up and began to loosely fold and set them aside for washing. When she felt something hard in one of the pockets, she opened the button and pulled out a crystal. Then something metallic fell onto the floor with a small clink.

Carefully bending to retrieve the shard, Tosia frowned when she realized what it was. She slowly ran her thumb over the familiar glyph, and anger began to course through her veins. She knew where John had found it, knew for certain now where he and Antal had been that afternoon, though she had forbidden Antal from that place. The ruins could still be dangerous, she herself had been the cause of that. They had also taken from her the one thing she had left to hold onto, the one thing she had treasured. Tosia hated the very sight of the place.

The sight of the objects John had taken from there, she hated even more. They seemed to taunt her with their very presence, the sheer fact of their uselessness.

The pants dropped from her fingers and onto to the floor. Tosia strode to the door, and pulled her robe from the hook. Yanking the garment on with quick, jerking motions, she stepped out into the night. Though there was no moon to illuminate her path, she knew the way to the lake by heart.

When she reached the shore's edge, the cold water lapping at her feet, Tosia drew her arm back, and as hard as she could, hurled first the crystal and then the glyph into its black depths.

By the time the ripples dissipated and the water returned to its formerly smooth, placid surface, Tosia's incandescent fury had faded as well.

* * *

--- tbc ---


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

The next morning, John was still fretful, but as soon as Antal opened the door to step outside and begin his chores, John immediately began to follow him, oblivious to the fact that he wore only his nightshirt.

He'd struggled when Antal urged him back inside, and so the younger man had talked quietly to John until he calmed enough to allow Antal to help him wash and scrape the few days worth of dark stubble from his face. He then helped John dress warmly enough for the chilled morning air before venturing outside.

Antal remained close to home that day, his mother having forbidden him to stray outside the village in light of Tosia's foul mood. He didn't mind so much – there was more than enough to be done around their home to keep him occupied. Winter's cruelty would be upon them any day now, and there was still much to prepare for its arrival. For the second year in a row, the crops and harvests had been even sparser than usual, and all the villagers feared there would not be enough to see them through. Antal remembered how many of their kin they had lost last year, his one close friend, Laris, among them.

However, it wasn't easy to get on with his chores, as it seemed the moment Antal turned his back, John would wander off, his motions so quiet as to be almost stealthy. One time, he had only gone to the privy, which he had been managing himself since Antal had shown him where it was. Another time, John had strayed so far that he'd almost reached the outskirts of the village before Antal found him and was able to lead him stumbling and resisting back to their small barn.

Frustrated, Antal had tried to coax John back inside to the warmth of the hut, but he'd balked and dug in his feet with such stubborn refusal that Antal had given up on the idea. Short of tethering the man to the fence, which Antal had briefly considered, he reasoned that John must simply be bored and decided to put him to work.

Antal had almost finished chopping kindling for their fire when Tosia emerged from the hut, wrapped from head to toe in her heavy robe and shivering with cold. Her features were set in an irritated scowl, but when she glanced at John, standing in place save for his faint swaying motion, arms piled high with kindling, she allowed a smirk.

"Antal, he does not need to hold that while you are still working."

"It was the only way to get him to stay put," Antal said with a shrug, "and he will not go back inside."

"You took him to the ruins yesterday, didn't you?" Tosia said without preamble, her cloudy eyes fixed on Antal's dark brown ones. It was too cold outside, and Tosia was in too irritated a state for any mollycoddling and hedging around what she had to say.

Antal blushed and ducked his head. Tosia had caught him so by surprise, he was unable to do anything but admit the truth. "It was only for a little while."

"I thought we had an agreement, Antal."

"I do not remember any agreement. I only remember being told what I can and cannot do," Antal said, petulant.

"The ruins are not safe. You know that."

"Yes, they are!" Antal protested. "There is nothing to be afraid of there. It's just a dead place, and you told me many times that dead things can't hurt anyone. You and everyone else in the village are just jumping at shadows, being fearful over nothing," he said, repeating what Tosia had told him when he'd been a small boy and afraid of the dark.

Tosia narrowed her eyes in anger at that. If Antal had still been that boy and not a man over twice her size, he was certain she would have walloped his backside for such a disrespectful manner.

"How many times have you been there?" she said, after taking a moment to rein in her temper.

"Many times," Antal said quietly, seeing no point in lying anymore. "I only brought John there once, though. And that is the truth."

"I should not be surprised. You have always been far too willful for your own good." Tosia let out a frustrated sigh, anger causing her heart to pound too hard in her chest and the ever-present ache in her side began to throb in time. "Why are you all so foolish? Why do you never listen until it is too late?"

Antal blinked, unsure how to respond to that.

"How many times do I have to forbid you from that place before you decide to pay attention, Antal? Hmm?" When Antal only stared at his boots, she continued through teeth gritted from both pain and frustration, "Very well. You are a grown man and I can no longer stop you from doing as you will, but you are not to take John there again."

"But he does not mind—"

"Antal, for once, listen to me," Tosia interrupted, her tone brooking no room for further argument. "Do not bring him there again. I do not want a repeat of last night with him. Promise me."

Antal was tempted to tell Tosia that he thought the reason John had been so distressed was that he hadn't wanted to leave the ruins, not because they had upset him. But there were some things you couldn't tell Tosia – not unless you wanted a tongue-lashing – and this was probably one of them.

"All right. I promise," he said reluctantly, and gave John a sympathetic look. Perhaps when Tosia was visiting with her ailing friend, Magda, he could sneak John back there for a short time.

Drawing her cloak tighter around her, Tosia nodded, satisfied. If Antal could not bring John, his perpetual shadow of late to the ruins, the younger man would likely stay put himself, or so she could hope. As she turned back to the hut, she said, "Do not be too long, Antal. It is getting colder outside, and John's arms must be getting tired."

Antal had completed his task, and was about to gather the remaining kindling from the ground when Silas strode by. Raising an eyebrow, the older man stopped to blatantly stare at John.

"Good day, Silas," Antal said, using the polite, typical greeting, but without much enthusiasm. Like Tosia, he did not like the self-important man, and Silas's arrival was not helping Antal's already difficult morning.

"Good day, Antal," Silas echoed just as flatly. "It appears as though you have finally found some use for him." He jerked a thumb in John's direction, and John's vague gaze drifted to the older man.

Antal frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps you could hitch a plow to him and put him to work that way, as well," Silas jeered, "have him earn his keep."

"Plows are for beasts, not a man," Antal explained, speaking slowly, as though to a very ignorant child.

Silas smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Is he not as dumb as a beast, Antal? Although I suppose _you_ are the last person I should be asking such a question."

Antal's hands clenched into fists. His eyes stung with tears and he ducked his head to hide them. He jumped at the sound of a clatter. John had allowed the kindling to fall to his feet.

"Oh, too bad," Silas said in mock sympathy. "Perhaps he is good for nothing, after all. Is Tosia inside, boy? I need to speak with her."

"I do not think she—" Antal started, but Silas roughly shoved him out of his way, causing the younger man to stagger. Antal caught himself on the rough wood of the fence, splinters digging painfully into his palms.

"Clumsy oaf," Silas chortled. "You should mind where you're stepping."

Antal straightened and glared at the man. "And _you_ should mind your manners."

Silas placed himself in front of Antal and grasped the front of his shirt, pointing an upraised finger in the young man's face. "Do not back talk me, boy! You need to learn your place!" Silas growled, giving Antal a rough shake. Silas jumped when something struck him on the shoulder and landed at his feet. It was a stick of kindling. Silas looked over to the stranger who was stooped over, watching him closely.

Narrowing his eyes, Silas's features flared with anger. "What did you do that for?" he demanded. He shoved Antal aside and rushed at John, grabbing hold of his arm. John backed up a few steps, and his feet tangled in the kindling on the ground. Silas, grinning nastily, let go of John's arm and pushed hard at his chest. Stumbling backward, John lost his balance, and with a clatter, sat down hard on top of the pile of wood, his teeth snapping together with an audible click.

When Silas reached out to haul John back to his feet, Antal, who had been momentarily frozen with surprise and indecision, sprang into action, and pulled on Silas's shirt collar, yanking him back. "Leave him alone!"

Silas spun on his heels and swung a meaty fist, connecting with the side of Antal's head. Antal cried out and staggered sideways a few steps, his hand flying up to his stinging ear.

"I told you to mind your place, you imbecile!" Silas growled.

Tosia and Lasca, hearing the clamor, rushed from the hut in time to see Silas grab at Antal. He had the dazed young man by the arm, his fist raised to strike him a hard blow.

John, moving with unexpected speed, lunged to his feet and grabbed Silas by the shoulder. He spun the older man around, punching him in the gut with a short jab. Silas clutched his middle, gasped out a curse, then charged. Snarling with fury, he swung a fist, grazing John's face. John stepped back, then suddenly and fluidly shifted his balance, ducking forward and catching the bigger man in an unfamiliar hold. He twisted his body and shifted his weight again, bringing Silas sailing over his shoulder and flipping him head over heels to land on his back with a thud. John stood over the other man, panting, hands upraised, threatening.

Tosia, Lasca and Antal stared at him, stunned.

Still on the ground, gasping and struggling to catch his breath, arms tucked protectively around his bruised middle, Silas turned his head in Tosia's direction. "I _told_ you that you should not have brought him here! He is _deranged!"_

"From what I've witnessed, he was only defending Antal," Tosia spat, furious. "Does it make you feel more of a man to beat on a boy, Silas? Get out of here. I have nothing more to say to you."

Struggling to his feet, Silas swiped the dirt from the back of his pants, fuming. "I have much more to say to _you_, old woman,_"_ he snarled. "But we will speak of this later. That you can be sure of." With that he stalked away, arm still clutched around his belly.

"Are you all right, Antal?" Tosia asked the young man, sparing Silas no further attention.

Antal nodded, staring at John in awe, his wounded ear all but forgotten. "Did you see that, Tosia! Did you see how easily John beat Silas? Silas will not be bothering us again, that is for certain."

"Yes, I saw," Tosia said, nodding impatiently and cautiously moving closer to John. He was breathing hard, watching Silas's retreating back. His upper lip was split and already swelling. When Tosia hesitantly placed her hand on John's shoulder, she could feel his body still vibrating with unspent adrenaline.

"Where did he learn to fight like that, do you think?" Antal continued. "Do you think he can teach me?"

"Antal, stop such talk," Lasca said in a sharp tone, and when her gaze darted over to John, her expression became wary. "You have never been a fighter, and I do not want you to start now, do you understand?" When Antal's face fell and he looked down at his feet, nodding, Lasca gave him a quick hug. "Come, let's bring this wood inside."

As Tosia watched Lasca and Antal gathering the kindling in their arms, the old woman's thoughts raced. She thought of the weapon John had carried and the strange bits of technology she'd found in his pockets. The manner in which he'd fought clearly showed him to be more than a mere shepherd in his previous life. He had the bearing of a soldier, a trained warrior.

"Where _did_ you come from, John?" she inquired in a soft voice – meant only for his ears. She did not expect an answer, but even as Lasca and Antal disappeared inside, still she waited, looking at John's face for any sign of reaction. He only raised his hand to his oozing upper lip. Staring at his bloodstained fingers as though not comprehending where the blood came from, he took a few shuffling steps away from Tosia, his motions unsteady, eyelids fluttering.

Taking pity on him, and not wishing to distress him any further, Tosia continued speaking to him in that same quiet voice. "Shall we go inside, as well, John? These bones of mine are too old for such weather. I only hope they can withstand another winter." She took John's arm as though he were one of her beau's from years past, escorting her to one of the many functions she'd enjoyed. "Come, let us go inside."

John muttered softly under his breath, but Tosia thought he was merely echoing her own words. He allowed her to lead him back to the hut.

When she pulled the door shut behind her, Tosia caught Lasca's uncertain, almost frightened glance at John. The younger woman quickly lowered her gaze when Tosia's eyes met hers and she directed Antal to stoke the fire.

Tosia led John to the chair by the table and urged him to sit. Without prompting, Lasca went to the small kitchen area, dipped a clean cloth in the bucket of water and handed it to Tosia. Grasping his chin with one hand, Tosia daubed at John's still oozing mouth. He winced and squinted his eyes, but offered no resistance.

"Mother…" Lasca began hesitantly. "Do you think John might be dangerous? I am grateful to him for protecting Antal, but…" she paused, "we know nothing of him..."

Tosia glanced at her daughter then back to John. In that moment, he appeared anything but dangerous as he sat hunched on the chair, arms wrapped around his chest and slowly rocking himself. Dressed in Antal's too large clothing, his shirtsleeves falling to the tips of his fingers, his pant legs rolled up so he would not trip over them, he appeared more of a frightened child than a threat, but Tosia was beginning to suspect what he might be capable of. When he'd fought Silas, that now familiar vagueness in his eyes was completely gone. Instead, it had been replaced with flat, steely determination. She'd seen that look many times before, in the eyes of warriors and soldiers. It spoke of the sort of training that was so deeply ingrained it became unconscious.

Tosia wanted to answer Lasca, to try and explain the instinctive feeling she'd had about John, the one that told her he had been a good man, that he was still a good man if he could only find his way back. But even as she tried to find the words, she began to question her own conviction.

Perhaps, the real truth was that he only reminded her far too much of Gaereth.

The sudden thought made her pause, made her old heart stutter, and she stared at John's features anew. She was amazed she hadn't seen it before. It wasn't a striking resemblance, but there was something in the slant of John's eyes and in his high cheekbones that was so very similar to Gaereth's.

The unexpected revelation brought a sharp pain to Tosia's chest, and she let out a soft, 'oh,' stumbling back a step, the cloth falling from her hand and onto John's lap. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to see it before. The loss of Gaereth, even after so many years, was a wound that would never heal. She would miss him until she drew her last breath.

Yes, the resemblance was clear, and perhaps her judgment had been clouded all along.

"Mother…" Lasca said, worried, touching Tosia's shoulder. "Perhaps you should sit down a moment."

Tosia shrugged off the concern with impatience. "I am fine. Do not fuss." She immediately regretted snapping at her daughter when Lasca pulled her hand away as though scalded. Tosia had foolishly allowed herself to become too wrapped up in her thoughts, in the grief that always hit her when she thought of Gaereth. That was why she tried not to remember him. Some things hurt too much to remember, and that hurt became weakness. Tosia abhorred weakness. "Lasca, we have nothing to fear from John," she finally answered. Perhaps if she vocalized the sentiment enough times, it would become truth.

"How can you be so certain?" Lasca said, a frown marring her pleasant features. "He is unpredictable. His mind is not sound."

"Neither is mine, but that never stopped you from staying near me," Tosia said, raising an eyebrow and smiling faintly. "Even before your parents died, you were always coming around to hear a story, weren't you? No matter what some people said of me back then, you were always so trusting." The memory of the sweet, innocent little girl Lasca had once been helped ease the sting of renewed grief, and so Tosia clung to it.

Lasca couldn't help a soft laugh and shrugged. "Well, you _are_ the best storyteller in the village." She noticed John's gaze darting between the two of them, as though he were comprehending their words. He pulled on his upper lip with his teeth, then winced at the sudden pain, his tongue flicking out to taste the still seeping blood. Softening, Lasca picked up the rag, wet it again and carefully placed it back over his mouth. John took hold of the rag himself after a moment, allowing the soothing coolness to ease the fiery sting. Lasca sighed, and brushed his tangled, unruly hair back from his eyes. "What do you suppose Silas will tell the others?" she asked.

"If he had any sense, which he does not, he would say nothing," Tosia replied. "It is probably best if John stayed near home for a while."

The rest of the day passed without incident and without any unwelcome visitors, for which Tosia and Lasca were grateful. John seemed unperturbed by his skirmish, and had even eaten his dinner without fuss and fallen asleep as soon as night fell.

The next morning, Tosia was the first to wake even before the sun had fully risen. When she shuffled into the cold main room the first thing she noticed was that John was gone – his nightshirt lay crumbled on his abandoned bed. His boots and jacket were also nowhere in sight. She went to Antal's small room where he lay asleep, and lightly shook him.

"Antal, have you seen John?"

Without opening his eyes, Antal muttered, irritated, "He's sleeping. So am I." With that, he turned over and went back to sleep.

Tosia shook her head in mingled frustration and amusement, and quickly dressing and taking her lamp, she went outside to look for John. But he was nowhere to be found. She thought of the crystal and the glyph in his pocket from a few nights ago, and without going back inside to tell the others where she was going, Tosia headed for the ruins.

* * *

-- tbc --


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: The Atlantis characters belong to their respective owners, etc. The original ones I'd kinda like to keep. Actually, I'd really like to keep Shep, too, but what can you do?

And again, thanks so much for the fantastic reviews. They make my day and keep me going amidst 72 computer crashes per chapter. And ah, yes… the ruins… shall we go back to them? Okay… here we go:

* * *

As John had passed through the village, stumbling once in while over his untied bootlaces, the moon was still up, and dawn was only a hazy promise in the distant horizon.

He made his way to his destination by fading memory, by undetermined purpose. When he saw the ragged hillside silhouetted in the distance, a part of his scrambled subconscious was relieved that he had come the right way. When he came nearer and the humming noise began to sound in his ears again, a faint smile lit his face – an echo of the vibrant man he had once been.

He wandered around the uneven landscape for a time, head tilted, listening. When the humming grew louder in one place in particular, at the base of a long slope of terrain, he dropped to his knees and began to pull at the hard-packed dirt and mud, ignoring the sharp, buried pieces of metal that cut into his skin.

Steadily, and with determination, he clawed at the dirt, scooping it in a growing pile beside him. He was oblivious to the wind and the light, icy rain that began falling on him. He paid no mind to his body's shivering from the cold and the trembling of his aching muscles, or the fact that his bent legs soon became numb from lack of circulation. None of that mattered to him. All that mattered was reaching the source of the humming that seemed to call to him, compelling him to listen to its single-note song. He focused on it, allowing it to drown out all the other noise in his head, even quieting that singular, familiar voice that had insisted he return to this place. He narrowed his focus until nothing existed but the humming sound and the urgent need to locate it source.

He had been there for over two hours, and the sky was the light gray of early morning, when Tosia finally reached the edge of the ruins. She paused, steeling herself to enter the place she'd vowed to never set eyes upon again. John was so covered in dirt and mud that he was almost invisible against the black and gray of his shadowy surroundings, and she nearly turned back. Then she spotted movement – John scraping away in the dirt and ash, pulling free shards of metal and clawing at the ground with frightening, single-minded determination. Tosia's gaze darted to the stone marker that lay only some ten feet beyond John's position. Anger rose so swiftly in her that it left her breathless, paralyzed with outrage.

Unaware of the old woman's presence, John took hold of a thin, rusted pipe, and wedged it in the trench he had created, wiggling the makeshift lever back and forth, pushing a curved chunk of ornately carved stone aside. Leaning forward, so that he lay almost headfirst inside the wide, deep hole he had created, his hands hit something flat and cool against his palms. The humming in his ears grew louder.

Even though John continued to push more dirt aside, unmindful and oblivious to the dangerous sanctity of the place, Tosia still found it impossible to tear her eyes away from the stone marker, the final resting place, which thankfully, John had yet to disturb. She had erected that gravestone and then left it, never coming close to it again, and a pang of guilt tore through her at that.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw John toss aside a chunk of twisted, dirty white metal and plastic, and Tosia thought it might have been the remains of a tablet. Her vision swam with sudden tears, and she saw Gaereth in the same place, searching with the same tenacity, the same stubborn, reckless dedication. Then she saw the terrible explosion, the one that frequently haunted her dreams. She saw Gaereth's body hurled like that of a discarded child's toy, plowing into her, knocking her off her feet, both of them slamming to the ground. The sharp pain of shrapnel hitting her in the face and fire catching in her hair, her skin, slicing, burning, terrifying. She saw once more, Gaereth on the ground beside her, his dark head resting against her shoulder, his face bloodied and blackened, his beautiful eyes staring sightlessly up at the snow-filled sky. Snowflakes were caught in his thick lashes, and some had landed on his irises, white flecking the dark blue. She wanted him to blink them away, to draw breath, to not leave her...

_No! _She would not let that happen again. She could not live through that again. She strode forward, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and jerked him backward. He gagged at the rough pull of his shirt collar and resisted, but Tosia could be just as determined, and she hauled on him until he sat back up. When she positioned herself in front of him, he scowled and tried to push past her.

"Gaereth, stop it!" Tosia ordered, reaching for his arm. He twisted away from her, shouting an inarticulate protest. Tosia's hand flew out, seemingly of its own accord, and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, then his wide eyes met hers, filled with betrayed hurt. Eyes that were clear hazel instead of dark blue, and Tosia blinked, startled. The present snapped back into its rightful place. Gaereth's beloved features were gone, and John's heartbreakingly similar ones came into sharp focus. Even still, her anger remained, more cutting than ever.

"That is enough, John!" she spat, breathless. She did not allow herself to soften at the red mark that rose on his cheek. She scarcely even felt the sharp sting in her palm and the ache of her knuckles. "What in God's name are you doing?"

"'Lantis," John said so softly that Tosia wasn't sure if she'd heard correctly. She couldn't have heard him correctly.

"What did you say?" she said, staring intently at him, the rain streaking lines of mud down his face and plastering his dark hair to his head. He was shivering with cold, teeth nearly rattling together. "John, answer me!"

When he only frowned and turned his head away to stare down into the hole, Tosia couldn't help but raise her lamp to shine its light in the same direction. The blue light glinted on what she first thought were shattered crystals and broken glass. Then she realized it was a window. Stumbling a few steps closer, she crouched beside John, pressing the lamp against the amazingly intact, glassy surface. With a start, she realized her mistake – foolish sentimentality had almost blinded her to what lay before her eyes. And what she saw inside that window made her heart stutter in her chest for the second time in as many days.

John leaned forward and laid one dirt-covered hand flat on the thick glass, and something lit up beside his splayed fingers – a bright yellow, pulsing light, its tempo like that of a heartbeat. When he lifted his hand again, the pulsing immediately stopped, and the light winked out. Tosia placed her hand in the same place. Nothing happened, and she wasn't surprised at that. Some of the remains of the old technology she and Gaereth found hadn't worked for them at the time, either. It was the ultimate finality of their punishment – to render them unable to use to the very tools they themselves had created. But why was it responding to John? Had the others made a mistake? Was he somehow more… complete then she was?

For an interminable amount of time, she stared into the previously concealed underground room, stared at the old technology so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. How could this have been here for all these years? She had assumed that it had all been destroyed in that last explosion. But here it still was, her work, traces of her old life, still here. Silent. Waiting. How could it possibly have survived? The implications of the possible tide of change that John had wittingly, or unwillingly set in motion stupefied her. _No… _It terrified her.

Staggering to her feet, Tosia tossed the lamp aside. She couldn't help another quick glance down at the remains of her former lab again, but without the lamp to illuminate it, the window was now just a dark, harmless blur. Not making a conscious decision to do so, she snatched up handfuls of pebbles and dirt and shoved it all back in the hole, placing larger rocks overtop to ensure no one else would find it, unknowingly mimicking John's own motions of a few days ago.

When she turned back around, hair wild, face streaked with dirt, John was sitting back on his heels, hands drawn up to his chest, watching her with cautious bewilderment. She finally noticed the bright red blood mixed in with the black dirt on his hands, trickling down his wrists and seeping into the cuffs of the rain-soaked jacket he had put on inside out.

Even through all the mud and dirt, she saw that John's fine-boned hands were crisscrossed with far too many cuts and abrasions to count. All his fingernails were torn and bloody, two of them ripped clean off, blood oozing from the raw, tender flesh. She was stunned by the amount of damage he had inflicted upon himself.

Grasping his upraised wrists, Tosia looked into his eyes, surprised when he met her gaze again. "How did you know this was here, John? How _could_ you possibly have known…"

He blinked and flexed his fingers, wincing, as though he were for the first time feeling the sharp pain in his hands. His lips moved, and for a moment, Tosia thought he was going to answer her, but what came out was a faint whimper. She realized that she was grasping his wrists so tightly, her fingernails were digging into his flesh, and she loosened her grip.

She had waited for his purpose to be revealed, hadn't she? And here it was. Here _he _was, finishing what Gaereth had started. She just hadn't anticipated that purpose catching her so unaware. So unprepared. And a loss of control was something Tosia could never withstand.

_They had to get out of this place. Right now, _her mind chanted. Even if the ruins no longer posed a danger, she could not face any of this yet. Her own cowardice infuriated her, anger replacing the fear. That anger gave her additional strength as she hauled on the back of John's jacket again, pulling the collar tight up around his throat, managing to force him to his feet. He gasped in a choked breath, and his numb, unsteady legs nearly buckled under his weight. Tosia yanked on his jacket and belt until he regained his footing, pulling at him until he stumbled beside her, his legs tingling with the pins and needles of renewed circulation.

As soon as they were outside the ruins, John shook his head from side to side and started muttering incoherently under his breath. Dragging his feet, he pressed his bloodied hands against his ears in a futile attempt to shut the other voices out, the voices that became clear again as soon as the humming faded. The scattered images and countless screaming faces flashed before his eyes in a sudden rush, overtaking everything else, and he was trapped alongside them, caught within their terrifying embrace.

Tosia, lost in her fury and unconcerned with John's distress, grabbed hold of his forearm, snatching his hand from his ear and dragged him by his wrist through the village, not even pausing in her steps at the many times he stumbled.

At the spectacle of the old woman pulling the tall stranger behind her like a wayward child, the villagers stopped in their tracks, staring open-mouthed. The sight would have been comical had Tosia's face not been so clouded with mindless anger, and had the man not been bleeding and stumbling, so muddled as to seem completely unaware of his surroundings. No one spoke to them, only giving them a wide, cautious berth as they passed.

Reaching home, Tosia pulled John inside, banging the door shut behind them. She marched him over to the bucket on the block in the kitchen, and plunged his hands in the cold water. John let out a sharp gasp, the cold and the intensified pain momentarily stunning him.

Lasca jumped to her feet from where she and Antal sat at the table. "Mother, what… where have you been?" She stared wide-eyed at the rain soaked, muddy pair. "What has happened?"

"Antal, help me with him!" Tosia ordered when John suddenly became aware enough to struggle, nearly upending the bucket and splashing them both as he broke free from her.

Antal quickly moved behind John, and took hold of his forearms, forcing the damaged hands back in the water. John cried out, and a wave of sympathy for the man struck Antal, almost causing him to loosen his hold.

Lasca watched her mother with growing alarm as Tosia, seemingly unmindful of the pain she was causing, began to scrub at John's hands with a rough cloth. John twisted and fought against Antal's intractable grip, soft, frantic moans escaping his tightly gritted teeth. Antal shot Lasca a pleading look to intervene.

"Mother, stop this!" Lasca shouted, but the old woman continued to ignore her and kept scrubbing the battered, tightly fisted hands. Torn skin began to come away with the dirt, and Lasca turned to her son. "Antal, let him go!"

Relieved, Antal immediately released his grip, and John snatched his hands away from the abuse, stumbling backward until the back of his legs hit the table.

Tosia, as though in a fog, turned and saw the shocked accusation on Lasca's face and the confusion on Antal's. The cloud of anger abated with a sudden rush, leaving her trembling and breathless. Her side burned with fiery tenacity and she welcomed its punishment. When she looked at John, the pain pinching his features again reminded her of Gaereth, and she knew he would be ashamed of her. She was ashamed of herself. She knew, without a doubt, that Gaereth would condemn her just as she had ridiculed her own people for their fear.

Shuffling closer to the injured man, and with a wildly shaking hand, she reached up to apologetically stroke the faded red mark on John's cheek. She wasn't surprised when he ducked from her hand, turning his head and stumbling away from her. He held his torn hands protectively against his chest, brows knitted in a furious scowl, visibly shaking with a mingling of cold and pain.

"Mother, tell me what has happened?" Lasca implored. "What is going on?"

Tosia only shook her head. "Will you tend to him, Lasca? We do not want those cuts to become infected."

Lasca stared at Tosia in astonishment for a moment, then shook her head. Years of experience dealing with the difficult woman had taught Lasca that Tosia would speak her mind only when she was ready, and not a moment before. Turning her back on her mother, Lasca directed her attention to John. When she moved closer to him with Antal a few steps behind her, John backed around the table, body tensed, his eyes darting from her to Antal, like a trapped animal.

Lasca nodded for Antal to take over, and the young man began speaking to John in a low, soothing voice even as John continued to retreat from him. When John's back hit the far corner, and there was nowhere for him to go, panic flittered across his features. Then something in him steeled, bracing for battle. His bleeding hands clenched into loose, upraised fists. A glimmer of the soldier became visible in his eyes.

"It is all right, John," Antal reassured, holding his own hands out in a placating gesture, not moving any closer to the man. "Tosia did not mean anything by what she did, and she's sorry for getting so angry. But we must wash that dirt off your hands, all right? I promise it won't hurt so much this time. It is all right now…"

Antal patiently continued talking in that low, calm voice while John stared with narrowed eyes at him, gauging his every move. Finally, after a time, John slumped against the wall, dropping his hands, the pain and bone-numbing cold from his hours in the rain starting to take hold. Blood dripped from his fingers and onto the floor, attracting his attention, and he focused on the small, red dots by his feet, listening to the faint, plopping sounds they made as they landed.

Antal slowly moved to his side, and John didn't seem aware of his approach. When the young man reached him and very slowly slipped his arm over John's trembling shoulders, he didn't resist. Antal gently led him back to the counter.

Carefully, with Antal's help, Lasca finished washing the dirt and debris from John's seeping hands, her motions so gentle, they seemed a mockery of Tosia's previous harsh actions. Lasca cooed softly to John as she worked, and Antal alternated between patting the man's shoulder and the top of his damp head in a further attempt at consolation.

Seeing that John was well taken of, Tosia, who had been watching silent and remorseful, turned and left the hut, closing the door with a soft thump.

Antal and Lasca looked up at the sound.

"'I swear, Antal… sometimes that woman…" Lasca said, then allowed her voice to fade, unwilling to finish what she had been about to say.

"Why do you suppose Tosia's so angry with John?"

"Who knows," Lasca sighed and blew an errant strand of hair from her face. "I have lived with her for most of my life, and yet I know almost nothing about her. You know Tosia – she tells us only what she wants to tell us."

Antal nodded and stared into the bucket in which he loosely held John's hands – the man was compliant now, leaning heavily against Antal's side. He noticed that the water was tinged a deep, murky pink, and he swallowed hard, looking away. "How do you suppose John hurt himself so bad?"

I do not know, Antal…" Lasca tried not to allow her frustration to show with Antal, for it wasn't her son who was trying her patience.

"Do you think that's why she's angry?" Antal asked, "'cause John did something to hurt himself?"

"No, I do not think so, son," Lasca said, gently lifting one of John's hands to inspect the damage. She winced when she saw the blood still running freely from the numerous open cuts. "I am sure Tosia will explain what happened when she feels more up to it."

"All right," Antal agreed, and they continued to work in silence, save for the intermittent words of reassurance offered to the injured man.

Once they had washed away the dirt as best they could, they sat John at the table. Antal held the man's wrists steady while Lasca began bandaging the still bleeding hands. John was now so pliant, and his gaze so unfocused that Lasca suspected he was no longer even aware of them. It appeared as though he had slipped into a place where he felt nothing. Judging by the amount of painful looking cuts, scrapes and deep gashes she covered with numerous strips of rags, Lasca thought, for now, that was probably a good thing.

* * *

--- tbc ---


	8. Chapter 8

Happy New Year's Eve Day! And, aww, thank you again! I can't tell you all how thrilled I am that you're enjoying this story and the characters so much, and so many of these great reviews are coming from some of my favorite Atlantis writers, too! Totally chuffed.

And the plot thickens further – hopefully in a good way, so deep breath and here we go:

* * *

Antal had always bemoaned the fact that his life, thus far, had been remarkably uneventful. He didn't even remember when his father had died. He had been too little to understand why one moment his father had always been around, then one day he wasn't, and so he hadn't missed him. Not really. He missed what it meant to have a father, but not the man himself. Tosia and Lasca were the constants in his existence, and not much had disrupted their lives since. Until now.

John had stumbled back to his usual place by the warm hearth as soon as they had finished bandaging his hands and had helped him change from his wet clothing. He sat motionless, his back against the wall, his legs drawn up and bandaged hands lightly covering his ears.

Tosia had finally returned home a long time later. Even though the old woman entered quietly, Antal still jumped at the sound of the door, and his heart began to pound when he saw the anger that reappeared on his mother's face. Lasca stood glaring at the old woman, waiting for an explanation, but Tosia, in typical fashion, stepped past her without a word, and merely went to her bedroom, banging the door shut, sparing neither Antal nor John even a fleeting glance.

Lasca had muttered something about old fools, which Antal didn't understand, and he watched with growing discomfort as his mother began preparing their evening meal, banging the pots a little louder than usual.

When he grew too distressed by his mother's uncharacteristic display of temper, Antal distracted himself by checking on John. Crouching down close in front of the other man, Antal realized that John was humming very softly under his breath – a continuous, droning solitary note. Antal wondered if maybe John's hands were bothering him something fierce, but it didn't look like he was hurting – his expression was calm, and while some blood had seeped through the coarse material of the bandages, the worst of the bleeding had finally stopped.

Even still, that constant, low keen didn't sound happy, so Antal patted the older man on the shoulder in an attempt at consolation. John's brows pulled together very slightly in acknowledgement of the contact, but that was all. His gaze went clear through Antal, and he went on making that noise, a steady hypnotic monotone on each exhaled breath.

Their evening meal passed without much in the way of conversation. Tosia refused to come to the table, and Lasca's anger faded to mostly silent brooding. John managed a few bites with Antal sitting beside him on the floor and holding his spoon for him; the man's battered hands were too heavily bandaged for him to properly hold anything for a while.

Antal's mother was still quiet when he helped her clean up the few dishes, and he found himself bewildered by the strange tension that had overtaken his previously harmonious home, dividing the two most important people in his life. The unsettling feeling of not knowing how one or the other would react at any given moment was altogether unfamiliar, and Antal didn't like it at all.

Much as he had come to think of John as a friend, and even a member of his small family, Antal was surprised to find himself longing for the placid, consistent routine of his life before John had come so unexpectedly into their lives.

---A---

As had become the norm, Tosia found herself wide-awake in the middle of the night, her thoughts churning. It was on nights like these that she longed for familiar books to read, for music to listen to, anything to shut out her own self-recriminations.

With a sigh, she pulled her aching body from the warmth of bed and shuffled into the common room. The embers from the fire were still glowing, and she saw John's silhouetted form huddled in front of the hearth.

Moving slowly, uncertain how he would respond to her, Tosia stepped beside him and threw some more kindling on the embers, stirring them until the sparks licked the wood, then caught fire, quickly illuminating the room in a warm, orange-tinged glow.

Tosia could see that John was shivering, even though perspiration beaded his brow, and his cheekbones were tinged with pink. She took the blanket from his bed and draped it over his shoulders. He tensed at her touch. When she raised her hand to his forehead, only wanting to check for fever, he ducked his head and batted her hand away.

"You're not the easily forgiving type, are you, John?" Tosia said with a wry smile. But she understood – she would do the same in his place.

Easing into the low chair beside him, she draped the rough wool blanket from the armrest over her lap, and watched John's profile for a moment. The firelight cast his features in amber and lit his dark hair with mahogany highlights. Tosia thought it a shame for a man this virile to be trapped within a mind so shattered. John shifted a little closer to the warmth of the fire, resting his elbows on his bent knees. His hands were so heavily bandaged it looked as though he were wearing thick mittens, and Tosia felt another pang of guilt over her earlier cruelty with him.

"I owe you both an apology and an explanation, do I not?" she began in a soft voice, not wishing to wake the others. What she had to say was for John's ears only, whether he comprehended her words, or not. "Someone once said that we become what we fear, and today I realized that I have done just that. I have become an ignorant, intolerant old coward. I just wanted to live out the remainder of my days hidden in the safety of this small hut with naught but my family by my side. What you found yesterday may have changed all that. You dug up the past, and the past is something I thought I'd successfully put behind me and forgotten. You brought it to light, in all its ugly truth, and that is why I was angry with you. I had no right to that anger, and I am truly sorry for how harshly I treated you, John."

She paused and stared back into the fire. John had begun rocking slightly; his own gaze on the flames, but he seemed alert, almost as though he were listening, and so Tosia continued. "For years, I cursed this planet and cursed my fate even more. Forty-six years ago, give or take, when I was sent here, to the very civilization I had helped create, I thought that I couldn't possibly withstand a world as primitive and harsh as this one. How could I live among people who were no better than the savages my colleagues and I first sent here, such a long time ago? These people were merely an abandoned experiment, docile laboratory rats released and gone wild. That is what I thought of them back then." She smiled sadly and remorsefully at that. "My peers had chosen their place of punishment well. It is what I deserved, I suppose."

Tosia glanced at John who had tipped his head slightly in her direction, but he still wouldn't fully look at her.

_Is this what you deserved, too, John?_ she thought._ What reason had they for casting you aside here?_

She thought back to her own early days on this land, days that seemed more like a hazy dream than a part of her own past. After so many years, it was becoming difficult to see it all clearly. No one should live as long as she had. It took a moment until she could continue, and she kept her voice barely above a whisper for fear that it would otherwise tremble with regret, with shameful weakness. "For the first few days, I stayed close to the cliffs, the very place of my rebirth, so to speak, and where I found the others and then you, John. I hid in a small cave I found nearby, and inside, there was a small bundle of clothing so that I could at least cover myself. The cave was just large enough to allow me to take shelter, and I stayed there, hiding like a pathetic, frightened animal and hoping for a reprieve from my sentence. I'd hoped that perhaps the others had only sent me here to frighten me into submission. Perhaps they would come when they felt I had learned my lesson. That pardon never came… but those with whom I had sworn allegiance did, in the same manner as myself. Over the course of a few days, all five of them were here. Gaereth was the last.

Then one day, one of _them, _the others, came to tell us of our fate, our final sentence. The planet would be hidden, cloaked from all sensors, cut off from any outside contact. It was both for our protection, and to make us disappear, as though we no longer existed. Our punishment, for our interference and disobedience, was to live out the remainder of our days on this planet, back in our previous, weak human forms, as helpless and as powerless as though we had never even heard of Ascension. They told you something similar, I assume, John? Before they sent you here?"

Tosia watched his profile again for a long time, but it was someone else's features she saw. "Gaereth was the one who told us to stop pining for what we had lost, and to start dealing with what was before us. He was always very pragmatic that way," she said, smiling, remembering so clearly the stark determination on his handsome face. "And so we found what was left of the original village. It was abandoned, save for a few scattered people, wild as the animals they preyed upon for their food. We took what shelter we could in the remains of the houses, and we used what tools we could find, or make, to work the land and gradually rebuild the village.

It was so very hard, John. It was so different from what we had known before. Sometimes, I felt as though we should just… stop. That we were fooling ourselves. But Gaereth kept me going. Kept all of us going. He was so determined to survive…" A pang of old grief swept over her and a sharp pain stabbed in her chest, but she was determined to follow this through to the end. She owed John as much.

"Gradually, people began to drift to us. They would just turn up at the village, small families, larger groups. Word must have been spreading … They were fearful of us, so brutally traumatized by the Wraith cullings… poor creatures. I often wondered why they gathered to us the way they did. Perhaps with our finer manner of speaking and our seemingly innate, superior knowledge, they must have come to see us as their salvation. And I suppose in a way we were, because once our sentence was finalized, and the planet was cut off, there has not been a Wraith culling in over forty-six years."

Tosia paused to throw another few sticks on the fire. She was starting to shiver, and whether it was from the cold or the echoes of the ghosts of those long dead, she wasn't certain. "Even still, we were not meant to endure, I suspect," she continued in a soft, pensive voice, "those of us sent here. The others likely expected us to be far too weak-minded and too out of touch with the harsh demands of our renewed physical forms to cope with such harsh circumstances. And how surprised we were by forgotten things like gnawing hunger, terrible relentless cold, and illnesses we had no means to cure. But somehow, we continued on. We did what our kind invariably does – we scratched out an existence, and some of us did survive. Humans are very much like vermin in that regard, are they not, John? Worse than cockroaches, even." She chuckled at the thought.

"We came to accept our fate, for what other choice did we have? We reminded ourselves that even a race as advanced as ours had once began as savages scratching in the dirt, wearing rags and skins, and hunting beasts for meat. In time, we decided that our new existence was more honest and purposeful that what ours used to be. We were no longer bound by laws that dictated us to do nothing but watch while others suffered. We were not punished for caring, for taking action, and we survived on our own terms.

Even more people, the ancestors of my lab rats, became curious enough to venture from scattered parts of this small land and settled in this very village. Those people taught us to hunt and to cope with the elements, and we taught them to live in a more civilized, compassionate manner. Somehow, we learned how to farm, how to seed crops and vegetables – at least my old research was good for something practical, hmm? The foundations for an organized society were still here, even after so many years – all that was lacking was the structure itself."

She smiled at the cautious optimism she'd possessed back then. "Unfortunately, this land was never intended to support such a growing population, and I fear, in time, my people will die out. Who is to blame when that happens, do you suppose, John? Those that first placed these people here? Or those who watch and do nothing while innocent people wither away and die?" Tosia stared into the flames, and decided that the answer to her own question didn't matter. The end result would be just the same.

"But back then, of course, we did not know this future that lay before us," she continued. "Back then, we were all working together side by side to make this village work, growing our own food, hunting for our meat. I began to feel a sense of righteous purpose in recreating this society. It was as though instead of merely observing the subjects of my experiment, I was gaining first-hand knowledge. Shaping their very existences. How better to finally see a part of my work to its fruition?"

She noticed that John was now watching her with that intense gaze he sometimes fixed upon whomever was speaking to him. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he hearing her? Was he condemning her for her arrogance? She gave him a faint smile and decided that she deserved whatever judgement he imposed.

"Gaereth thought I was mad, but then, in his mind, madness was a prerequisite for all scientists," she said with a slight, bemused shake of her head. "In these people, I had found my purpose, but it was Gaereth who always gave me hope, who gave me strength. For a time, I thought we would be all right. That it did not matter how we lived, so long as we had one another we could cope with anything. Even a lifestyle as harsh as this one."

Tosia saw no point in mentioning the child she had borne and lost within the space of a few years. That was a private grief she and Gaereth had shared and survived. The old woman was silent for a long time, thinking of how, just when it seemed that life had thrown everything it could at you without physically killing you, suddenly it presented another obstacle, another test of faith and endurance.

"How strange that it all began and ended in the place where the ruins now lie," she said, even as the realization struck her. "Gaereth, unlike the rest of us, did not so easily accept his fate. He always needed to be doing something more, railing against any limitations imposed upon him. When he pinned down the location of my old laboratory, his pragmatic nature came into full force. If there was a possible means to a way out of here, or to merely better our existences, then he would stop at nothing to find it. I suppose that hope sustained him, the way his very presence sustained me.

Even though I knew better, and even though there seemed to be nothing left of the lab, I still joined him in his search. His enthusiasm and determination were so infectious that some of the others also helped. We dug through the blasted ground for days and days, and we found nothing but debris and an amazingly intact detector that refused to work for any of us, but we did not give up.

Then came the day when Gaereth and two of the other men dug a little too deep. The last of the fail-safes that I myself had set so long ago, finally went off. I felt the rumble in the ground beneath my feet. I heard the explosive go off, and when I realized what was happening, I shouted a warning to them, but it was too late. They were killed instantly, and I am responsible for their deaths."

Tosia lightly ran her fingers over the deep scar on her face. She knew Gaereth's body had shielded her from more serious injury, or even death, and that knowledge made the burden of guilt even more difficult to bear. "I suppose it was only fitting that my face became as ugly as my spirit when Gaereth died. He took my hope with him, and all I had left was anger and bitterness so cutting, it was all I could taste for a long time. There were days when I would have willingly followed him to his grave. But I didn't. Like a cockroach, like the human that I had been forced to become, I survived and I went on. I accepted my fate, became as one with these people, and I tried to forget my past. For a while, I almost succeeded."

When something tickled her face, Tosia swiped her hand over her cheeks to find them wet. She cursed under her breath – she hadn't cried in years, and the sensation was almost foreign to her. With disgust, she realized that she was becoming even more of a weakened, old crone than she'd ever suspected possible.

"These people are better off than we were," she stated after a moment, vocalizing what she'd always told herself in consolation of all that she had lost. Sometimes she even believed it. "We never told them of our origins. It would have been too cruel to tell them that their lives could have been so much better had we not played God with their ancestors. That there was so much better out there, so much that they would never get to see or experience. What would have been the purpose in telling them any of that? Their life is harsh, and only the strong survive the winters, but they do not know any differently, and that which they do not know will never hurt them."

Taking a deep breath, Tosia felt some of the tightness that always seemed to be gripping her chest loosening a little. Telling this story for the first time in forty-six years was oddly liberating, she found, though she knew she was far too embittered to allow herself any forgiveness. And maybe it was a story she could only tell to one who wouldn't even comprehend her words.

"The ones banished along with me are all gone – the last one died many years ago now. I never expected to be the last of them. It felt so odd… the loneliness of it... and that is when I started returning to the cliff side, every once in a while. Just in case, I'd told myself. So much for forgetting my past, hmm? I suppose a tiger cannot change its stripes, after all."

Glancing at John again, she frowned and a cold shiver went down her spine as a startling thought came to mind. "Is that why you were sent here, John? Did my wish for a kindred spirit somehow condemn you this fate? I would hope that the others would not be so cruel. Surely they have other methods of punishment for disobedience?" As she watched him, John's gaze began to drift, losing its sharp focus. "Although, the worst punishment is not to die, but to endure and bear witness, is it not? I suppose I have not come very far from what I fought against."

She leaned forward to prop her feet on the hearth, allowing the heat to ease the chill that never seemed to leave her anymore. "Perhaps it is now time to stop witnessing and start taking action again. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, if you are feeling up to it, shall we go take a look at what you worked so hard to find, hmm, John?"

She looked at him again, but he was no longer watching her. His gaze was once more on the flames, and he rocked very slowly, back and forth, his motions almost hypnotic in their measured repetitiveness. Again, Tosia found herself wondering just how much of what she'd told him had registered. She was surprised to find herself hoping that he had, in fact, heard her story. Everyone wanted to leave behind some sort of legacy, and Tosia was no different.

"Perhaps it is time for an adventure," she mused, nodding to herself, liking the idea more and more. "Shall we open that window and take a look at what is left inside, John? It is unlikely that the ruins pose any further danger. If they did, then I suppose you and I would have been blown to bits yesterday, decorating the landscape and Gaereth's grave."

Nodding, she thought of the fail-safe, self-destruct devices she had set. There had been two of them, and two of them had gone off. They would be safe, she told herself, and she forced herself to believe it.

At some point, John's blanket had slipped unnoticed to the floor. Tosia retrieved it and wrapped it snugly around him, even as he drew up his shoulders and muttered sounds of protest. She quickly pressed her fingers to his cheek and felt that his sweat-dampened skin was warm from more than just the heat of the fire. He turned his face away from her, tucked down his head and rested his chin on his upraised knees.

Tosia chuckled again and let him be. "That's right – you play hard to get, John. A man with your looks can afford to do so, and I am a patient woman." She smiled at her own joke. "I shall ask you again in the morning."

With that, she leaned back in her chair and waited for sleep, or for the sun to rise. Whichever came first.

--- tbc ---

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_Just a quick note now that you've read this chapter: Any minor similarities to a certain, recent late-ish season 3 episode (which shall remain unnamed so that I don't inadvertently spoil anyone) are purely coincidental, since I wrote the bulk of this story in the late summer. For those of you who haven't seen this mysterious, unnamed ep, don't worry – this story absolutely does not spoil a thing. _:-)

Happy 2007 everyone! Seize the year!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters belong to somebody other than me. I'll put them back when I'm done with them. I promise… soon… really.

And hey – the first post of the New Year! Hope everyone had a safe and very happy New Year's Eve and are enjoying the first day of the year. And here we go:

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A sudden thump jolted Tosia from slumber so deep it took a moment to orient herself to her surroundings. The crick in her neck and the stiffness of her outstretched legs then swiftly reminded her that she had fallen asleep sitting up in the chair. She was surprised that sleep had overtaken her so completely. Perhaps she wasn't too old or too disenchanted to find some absolution in confession, after all.

Then she remembered John. He was no longer by her side, and a surge of fear coursed through her. She sat up straight in her chair, her anxious gaze darting around so quickly she almost missed seeing him slumped against the door, one shoulder propped on the rough wood, his limbs loose and sprawled, as though he had fallen.

Stumbling to her feet, unmindful of the sharp pains in her hips and back, Tosia rushed to him. She laid her hand on his upper back, finding the material of his shirt damp with sweat. His head had dropped forward so that his chin rested nearly on his chest, and frowning, Tosia noticed that the thick hair along the nape of his neck and by his temples was wet and adhering to his skin. When she pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, she wasn't surprised at the heat of his clammy skin. His closed eyelids fluttered at her touch.

"John?" Tosia called and lightly shook him.

He murmured under his breath, his eyelids fluttering once more, then opening. He raised his head slowly, with effort, and looked up at her, his eyes bright and glassy with fever. Frowning with perplexity, he studied Tosia's features as though he were struggling to recall who she was.

Tosia gently patted his cheek in an attempt to reassure him, and when he didn't flinch away from her touch, she surmised that she had been forgiven. At least for the time being. Taking hold of his arm and reaching around his back, she hoped to be able to urge him to stand. "Come, John, let's get you off this cold floor."

John tried to get his feet under him, but gave up when he couldn't seem to coordinate his limbs. He slumped even further against the door, pressing his face to the aged wood. The cold air wafting in and around the frame must have been soothing to his fevered skin, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut again.

Tosia shook him again, worried. "Come, John, I am sure your bed will be a much more comfortable place to sleep."

The sounds of footsteps behind her diverted her attention, and she turned to see Antal stepping up beside her and running a hand through his sleep tousled dark hair.

"What's the matter with John, Tosia?" Antal's concerned gaze darted to each of them.

"I think he was trying to go outside again. He's running a fever – but I am not surprised after what he put himself through," Tosia replied, watching John with a concerned frown of her own. "Will you get him back to his bed, Antal?"

"All right," Antal said agreeably enough and reached down, grasping John under his arms and carefully lifting him to his feet. John groaned, pulling his eyes open to stare at both of them in confusion, then hazily gazed around the small hut, seemingly taking everything in for the first time. Tosia found it odd that he appeared to pay more attention to his surroundings while burning up with fever than he'd ever done since she'd found him.

Antal attempted to lead John back to his bed, but he dragged his feet, and shook his head from side to side, as though in refusal. Shrugging, Antal pulled his own woolen cloak from the hook by the door and draped it over John's shoulders. At Tosia's questioning look, Antal said, "Maybe he just needs to use the privy."

Tosia smiled at Antal's easy and logical reasoning. It so very often was the correct one. She cautioned the young man not to dawdle, for it was cold outside and she could hear the wind howling along the rafters. John willingly, but blearily went along with Antal and allowed the younger man to help him, but became confused and uncooperative when Antal brought him back inside the hut a short time later.

It took a few minutes, but Antal was able to gently coax a reluctant, but visibly exhausted John back to his bed. He refused to lie down though, and sat with his back propped against the wall, his bright, fevered gaze drifting to every nook and cranny in the hut, and Tosia wondered what he was hoping to see, or to find. Maybe, she thought, his disoriented mind was seeing a different place, possibly one that had better memories than this one.

Lowering herself beside him on the pallet, Tosia took careful hold of one of his hands, checking the bloodstained bandages. She could feel the heat of his skin even through the thick layers of material. Lasca had done the best she could with their limited provisions, but Tosia knew John was still in danger of serious infection. She bit back a curse at their lack of medicinal supplies – how such simple medicine that had been around for centuries in her previous life would have saved so many here. But there was nothing to be done about that.

Though her arthritic fingers ached unbearably from yesterday's cold and rain, she carefully unraveled the bandages, and with water that had been boiled by the fire and allowed to cool, she cleaned the innumerable amounts of cuts and abrasions again. And this time, as she cleaned John's battered hands, she ensured her motions were gentle, so careful that he scarcely flinched as she worked, even though most of the cuts were swollen and inflamed.

She then reached for the flask of corn liquor that she kept on hand for injuries and only used sparingly. How she and Gaereth had laughed over their first successful batch, which they of course, had to sample. Many times. She carefully pressed the alcohol-dampened cloths against the worst of the infected cuts. John flinched and pressed his lips tight together, but didn't pull away, as though he somehow knew she was helping him now. When she replaced the bandages, she was careful to place extra strips of cloth on the deep, ragged cut on the webbing between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.

"I do so wish you could tell me how you knew where to look… how you knew my lab was still down there…" Tosia mused softly, not wishing the others to hear. She wrapped the strips tight around his thumb, immobilizing it as much as possible so the gash would have the chance to properly heal. Winding a long strip of cloth around the packing, she tied it securely to his wrist, then gently grasped his forearm and looked into his too-bright eyes. "We will go back there soon, John, I promise. Once you are feeling better."

John gave no sign of having heard her, as she expected, but the reassurance was as much for herself, as it was for him.

They were finally about to sit down to a late breakfast that Lasca had prepared, when there was a loud knock at the door. Tosia cursed under her breath. She had an inkling of who may be on the other side, and knew the conversation would not be pleasant. Even still, it was unavoidable.

Nodding to Antal, the young man went to answer the door, with Tosia following close behind. Lasca remained close by John who had grudgingly laid back on his pallet, but he had yet to submit to his illness and exhaustion.

When Antal pulled open the door, they were met with a strong gust of icy wind that nearly tore the door from his grasp, and were faced with Silas, Urvan and three other men from the village.

Motioning to Antal to step aside, Tosia placed herself in front of the open door and took her time studying each of the men's faces, trying to determine their intentions. "What can I do for you?" she said, her voice flat, expressionless, betraying none of her irritation with their intrusion. The wind tore at her hair and clothing, and she shivered involuntarily.

"We want to talk to you about the stranger."

"What of him?" Tosia said, raising an eyebrow at the man, Kornel, who had spoken. He was the next oldest in the village, another of the esteemed elders.

"Can we not come inside to discuss this?" Kornel asked, pulling the collar of his coat tighter around his neck.

"That depends on your intentions." Tosia looked pointedly at Silas.

"Tosia…" Kornel said with an impatient frown. "We simply wish to—"

"If you are inquiring as to John's well being, then yes, you are welcome to come inside," Tosia broke in, but made no move to step away from the door. "If you wish to discuss what happened between John and Silas, then no, you may not come in. Now is not a good time. You are interrupting our breakfast."

"Tosia… we have all been as one family for as long as any of us can remember, and yet you allow this stranger… this _outsider_ to come between you and your own people. We are only concerned for your well-being, and that… that this man may be too… dangerous… to allow him to live among us."

"And what brings you to that concern?" Tosia inquired, directing her attention once more to Silas. "And I remember when we once welcomed strangers. You are old enough to remember such a time, as well, Kornel."

"Do not be coy, Tosia," Silas broke in with a ferocious scowl, pushing in front of Kornel. "You know full well what happened here the other day, and what _this_ stranger is capable of. And others saw you and him in the village yesterday! He had blood on his hands! How do you explain that?"

The other men muttered, looking fretful, and even more alarming, Tosia saw an element of potential violence in their postures, so she stepped back, allowing them to come inside. She shut the door behind them with effort, but could still hear the howling wind. It sounded as though a storm were brewing.

Lasca greeted the men, but stayed by John's side, placing one hand protectively on his shoulder. Each of the village men's focus was on John and the heavily bandaged hands that lay resting on his flat belly. When the villagers crowded close around him, John halfway sat up, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes slowly, but steadily moving from one man to the next, his muscles tensing, his posture wary.

Tosia allowed the men to watch him for a moment, proud that even ill as he was, John showed no fear of them. Just like Gaereth would have done, she thought. She supposed it was time for an explanation for her behavior of the day before, but when she spoke it was more for her family's benefit than for the villagers'.

"John had blood on his hands because he injured them after falling in the ruins," she said, unflinching, her tone firm and leaving no room for rebuttal. "You are all well aware of how dangerous that place is, and this should serve as a further reminder. However, John does not understand everything he is told, and he has a tendency to wander, which is how he ended up in that place. I am afraid my patience is not what it used to be, and I overreacted when I found him there. He did not mean to be disobedient – it was a simple accident, and no cause for alarm. You have no reason for your concern."

Lasca's sharp gaze met Tosia's, and the younger woman studied her mother's features for a long time. Those cuts on John's hands could never be caused by a simple fall, but Tosia knew Lasca would never voice her suspicion. At least not in front of the others.

"Now if you will excuse us, our breakfast is getting cold." With that, Tosia walked back to the door, a not so subtle hint that she had said all she intended to say. She had already decided not to tell any of them, including her family, what John had found at the ruins. What lay hidden beneath the blasted ground was not for their world.

"Just one minute. That is not all we have come to discuss, Tosia," Silas growled, making no moves to leave, and jabbing a finger in John's direction. "He and I have some unfinished business."

"I will handle this, Silas," Kornel said, shooting the man an irritated glance. "Now, Tosia, I admire your generosity and compassion towards this man, but we want no trouble to come to our homes."

"Then perhaps it is Silas you should be having words with," Tosia said with a faint, sardonic smile. "For he is the only one I see stirring up trouble."

Silas's face turned bright red with outrage, and he flung his arm in John's direction. "He attacked me!"

"Only after _you_ bullied and struck my grandson without provocation! John was only defending Antal, and for that, I am grateful to him," Tosia stated, her temper flaring. "Perhaps you are only affronted, Silas, because this _stranger,_ even ill as he is, knocked you flat on your back without breaking a sweat!"

"Is this true?" Kornel turned to Silas.

"Tosia is mad, she always has been," Silas sputtered. "That is why she feels so at home with an imbecile and a lunatic."

"That is enough, Silas!" Kornel shouted, staring down the man, stunned by his outburst. "There is no call for such disrespect!" Silas returned the glare, then stepped back, cowed for the moment.

"What you say may well be the truth, Tosia," Kornel continued, his weathered features downcast and regretful, "but we all agreed that it would be best if you kept the stranger away from the main village and the others. He will not be welcomed among us. We have enough to worry about with the winter storms coming, and the harvests have been so very poor… We need every able body we have to ensure that this winter will not be as difficult as the last. You know full well that we cannot afford to take in those who are unable to earn their keep. The others… also feel that you should consider bringing him back to where you found him. Let his own kind find him and deal with him. Otherwise…" Kornel allowed his voice to trail off, unable to articulate the near threat.

A cold knot of mingled anger and despair settled in the pit of her stomach, and Tosia looked at each of the men, but none of them were willing to meet her gaze. She nodded after a moment, not in agreement, but in recognition of their fear of the unknown and the unfamiliar. Even still, she couldn't withhold a deep sense of disappointment in them. In herself, too, for she was party to creating the sheltered, intolerant society in which they existed.

"If you have said all you wish to say, then Ithink it is best if you all took your leave now," Tosia said after a long, tense moment, grateful that at least her voice wasn't shaking as badly as the rest of her was.

"I am sorry, Tosia," Kornel began, forcing himself to meet the eye of the woman he held in such high regard. "Perhaps in time…"

"It is all right, Kornel," Tosia said, softening a little at the man's obvious discomfiture. "I know this is not all your doing."

Kornel nodded and his eyes spoke of his remorse, but he didn't say anything more. He turned toward the door, and the others silently followed him outside into the cold, blustery air. The first of many snowfalls had begun, and a gust of snowflakes blasted in, cold white drifting onto the stark gray stone floor. Winter would soon have them in its icy, unmerciful embrace, and as Tosia watched the flakes dissolve into small droplets, like fallen tears, she was certain that this winter would be her last. The knowledge brought a strange, but welcome sense of relief. Turning to meet her family's gaze, Tosia, for once, was at a loss for words, unable to feel anything but the strange new sensation that this would all be over soon.

Antal, who had watched the entire exchange with wide, frightened eyes, looked to both his mother and grandmother for explanation and reassurance. "Why did they say that?" he asked each of them. "What did John do wrong?"

With effort, Tosia forced herself from the torpor that had so suddenly overcome her, and patted the young man's arm. "He did nothing wrong, Antal. They just don't understand that he's different from them. He and I are both simply different from all of them."

Lasca rose to her feet, frowning at Tosia. "What do you mean, 'he and I'?" Antal looked to both of them again with uncertain, fearful eyes. "Come sit with John for a moment, Antal," Lasca added, smiling for her son's reassurance.

Once Antal had positioned himself beside the ill man, Lasca stepped closer to Tosia, meeting the old woman square in the eye. When she spoke again, she kept her voice quiet so that Antal couldn't hear them from across the room. "Mother, ever since John came here, you've been acting strangely. Well, more strangely than usual," she amended, when Tosia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why did you lie about his hands?" Lasca paused, her thoughts churning, then her eyes widened. "Did John… did he do something to hurt someone? Is that what you're not telling us? Is that why the others are so afraid of him? Is that why they want to send him away?" She darted a glance back at John, and with a pang of fear, wanted to call to her son to step away from him.

"Lasca, do not be as foolish as those ridiculous men." Tosia took hold of her daughter's arm in reprimand, though she knew Lasca had every right to question her. She owed her daughter more than falsehoods, yet there was no way she could tell her the entire truth. Lasca simply wouldn't understand, and Tosia and the others had fought too hard to protect their offspring from the bitterness of false hope.

Perhaps an omission of the truth would suffice, Tosia decided, and choosing her words carefully, she finally said, "John has harmed no one but himself. And I did not lie about his hands. I merely left out that I found him looking for something in the ruins. He was digging in the ground with his bare hands, and that is how he injured them. What he may have been looking for, I do not know, but I saw no reason to tell the others this fact. They are already behaving enough like frightened children as it is." She paused, amazed that the lie had come so easily.

"I saw John doing that, too!" Antal piped up and clambered to his feet. "Digging, I mean. He just likes to collect things – like I do. He found some things at the ruins the last time, but I think he lost them." Antal puzzled for a moment. "Oh, do you suppose maybe that's what he's looking for? What he lost?"

Tosia smiled, grateful to her grandson. "Yes, I think that is exactly what he's looking for."

"Maybe he won't be so upset if I give him some of the things that _I_ found at the ruins?"

"That is a splendid idea, Antal."

Before Lasca could voice her surprise that her son had been regularly visiting the ruins against their wishes, Antal grinned, jumped to his feet and disappeared into his bedroom. Tosia and Lasca could hear him rummaging around, muttering to himself about where he might have last left his treasures.

Tosia looked to Lasca, troubled by the undisguised distress that was still on her daughter's face and how she was unconsciously wringing her hands, something she had done from the time she was a frightened little girl.

"Lasca – Antal and I have come to an understanding about the ruins, so there is no need to worry about that. The others… they will come around eventually," Tosia reassured her. "They will eventually get used to John. What was once unfamiliar soon becomes the norm, given enough time. Do not fret, all right?"

"All right," Lasca said after a moment, allowing the tension of the past few days to release its tight grip somewhat. "I suppose you are right."

"I am always right," Tosia said with a nod, chuckling when Lasca pulled a silly face in reply. Tosia only wished she could believe her own reassurances. She knew all too well how the unfamiliar or those who are simply different more often become the unjustly ostracized.

Antal emerged from his room, triumphant, with his arms full of assorted bits and pieces. He laid them carefully on the floor beside John's bed – metal shards and broken bits of crystals. A piece of glass melted into a smooth, blackened stalactite. Bolts, colored bits of eroded glass melded together with a piece of plastic to form a rough, egg-shaped sphere, all along with various other paraphernalia. Lasca and Tosia stepped closer to see, surprised at how much Antal had collected.

"Look, John," Antal said, oblivious to their scrutiny and nudged John's shoulder until the older man's feverish gaze drifted to him. "No, look here." Antal patted at the floor.

Pinching his lips, John slowly followed the motion of Antal's hands. He blinked at the objects without much interest. Then he seemed to focus on a few in particular. He carefully moved his hand over them and fumbled to pick up the objects, hindered by the clumsy bandages. He managed to snag a few pieces with his damaged fingers before losing his grip on them. He groaned with frustration and tried again, but Antal quickly retrieved the objects for him instead – a piece of blue-colored plastic and a glyph that was perfectly intact, save for a small chip missing from one bottom corner. Turning John's hand over, Antal dropped them in his heavily bandaged palm.

John scowled at the plastic, but carefully, with the bandaged tips of the torn fingers of his other hand, took tenuous hold of the glyph. He let the plastic fall back to the floor, and with both hands, carefully cradled the glyph to his chest. "Mm-kay," he muttered under his breath, "Ro'ney can fix it."

Curious, Tosia crouched next to John and laid her hand on his shoulder. "What, John – what can Ronny fix?"

"Ever'thing…" John breathed out, his eyelids drooping with fatigue.

Hiding her surprise that John had answered her, Tosia smiled and gently rubbed his arm. "Everything, hmm? He must be some crafty fellow, then."

John blinked tiredly at her, his face flushed and beaded with sweat. Tosia laid her cool hand on his forehead and he leaned into her touch. His fever was getting higher, she realized with alarm. John muttered something that was indecipherable, then coughed, long and hard. Tosia helped sit him up, rubbing his back until the fit subsided. Lasca handed Tosia a wet cloth and a wooden cup filled with water, and they exchanged a worried look.

Tosia held the cup to John's lips, and he drank greedily from it. She pulled the cup away before he finished it, not wanting him to upset his stomach. With Antal's help, she eased him back to the pillow, and Tosia wiped the cloth over his damp face. Sweat had pooled in the hollow of his throat, so she gently tried to move his tightly clasped hands away from his chest so she could unbutton the front of his shirt. John scowled and tightened his grip so much that Tosia feared he'd reopen the cuts on his hands.

"It is all right, John," Tosia soothed, "I will not try to take it from you. That is yours now. It is all right." She worked around his hands instead, slipping the cloth under his collar and trying to cool his heated skin. The entire time, John held the glyph tight against him, protesting again when Tosia very carefully took hold of his fingers, trying to loosen his grip and ease the pressure on his cuts. A soft groan escaped his lips as he shifted his hands, but still he held tight.

Sighing, she gave up and let him alone. John was just as headstrong as she was, she'd come to realize. She found herself wondering again what he had been like before his mind had become so damaged. She liked to think that he was as Gaereth had been. Strong but kind, stubborn, but loyal to a fault. Perhaps that was just projection though, wishful thinking, at best.

Pulling herself back to her feet, Tosia watched as John slipped into a fitful sleep, glyph still held to his chest, right over his heart. Maybe that ancient, metallic symbol of freedom offered him a glimmer of hope, and Tosia was even more certain of their need to return to what lay beneath the ruins before the snows covered all traces of it.

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--- tbc ---


	10. Chapter 10

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, but again, I really have to thank you all for the fabulous and so encouraging reviews each chapter. I adore you to pieces. And your questions and speculations will (hopefully) be answered very soon. Promise:-) And… here's more:

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For three days, John drifted in a feverish haze while his body fought the infection coursing through his system. Sometimes he clearly spoke. He asked for Ronny again, and sometimes, he called out more names, perhaps of those who had once been close to him. Other times he spoke of flying, muttering what Tosia recognized as commands to an invisible co-pilot – telling him to 'pull up,' to 'stay sharp,' his battered hands passing over controls only he could see. But most of the time, he was still and quiet, save for the insistent wet, rattling cough and the rasping of his breath.

There wasn't much to be done for him other than trying to keep him as comfortable as possible, but between the constant pain in his hands, the congestion clogging his lungs and the raspy sound to his voice when he did speak, he was clearly miserable. Unable to sleep for more than an hour or two at a stretch, he tossed and turned on the pallet. Many times, he gave up on sleep completely and sat huddled against the wall, and between bouts of coughing, Tosia could often hear him humming under his breath.

On the third day, Lasca and Antal ventured into the small market in the village, only to be met with suspicious glances. Suddenly, those that they considered friends were too busy to stop and greet them. Some of the villagers even huddled together, talking amongst themselves, questioning what nerve Lasca and Antal had to even show their faces in town, intentionally speaking loud enough for them to overhear.

Thoughts churning with a mixture of anger and bewilderment, Lasca laid their wares on the market carts – the few winter cabbages and turnips they had coaxed from the ground and were able to spare for trade. The other villagers grudgingly made their trades, taking no time for small talk, and Lasca and Antal returned home far too quickly with their ration of grain from the communal stand and a sackful of potatoes.

Lasca had shrugged off the villagers' alarming behavior for Antal's benefit, but in truth, the scorn deeply upset her. And from the distress clearly written on Lasca's face as she stepped back inside their home, Tosia was able to deduce what had happened without the other woman having to speak a word.

"Give it time, Lasca," Tosia told her daughter again. "We will not give in to such foolishness. They will get over this nonsense soon enough."

"And until then, what are we to do?" Lasca said, a trace of bitterness filling her voice. "Do we hide in our home like miscreants?"

"I am not suggesting we hide, at all," Tosia replied.

"Well, then what _are_ you suggesting?" Lasca snapped. "You did not see them! How they acted! I wish that you…"

"You wish that I _what,_ Lasca?" Tosia demanded. When Lasca set her jaw and looked down at the floor, Tosia's anger once more began to grow, but it wasn't only her daughter she was angry with. "What I am suggesting is that you walk through that village with your head held high, and you do not bow down to _anyone_! I raised you to have a thicker skin than this! At the first sign of adversity, are you going to wilt like a trampled flower?"

Lasca's eyes filled with tears but she stood her ground. "I will do no such thing. I am merely concerned for Antal. He does not deserve this."

"It is all right, mother," Antal said softly. "I do not go into the village very often, and most people pay me no mind anyhow."

"There, you see?" Tosia said, waving an arm in Antal's direction. "Your son is hardier than you think, Lasca. Come, let us all stop worrying so much. Worrying is for old fools and those with too much time on their hands."

The rest of the day was filled with chores as the three settled into their usual routine, but the seed of dissension that had started within the village was now spreading its roots in their small home.

Later that afternoon, though her side ached with such a steady throb that she was unable to walk without limping, Tosia went to find Antal working in the barn, tending to their cow and small goat. It took a moment for Antal to notice her, and then he frowned with concern when he saw Tosia's hand gripped tight to her side.

"Are you unwell, Tosia?" he asked, and a pang of regret went through her at the casual query. Sometimes Antal could seem almost a normal man, and it always pained her to see what he could have been. _No,_ Tosia quickly corrected. He _was_ a good man, a fine, strong young man, and that was more than she could say of the many others she had encountered over the years.

"I am old, Antal – that is all which ails me," she replied with a reassuring smile. "How would you like to take an old woman for a walk?"

Antal brightened at the prospect, then turned to the animals. "But I must—"

"It will not take long."

"All right," Antal agreed with a shrug. Tosia knew that he could never turn down an opportunity to explore and escape his chores.

As they walked, Tosia took hold of Antal's elbow and tried not to lean on him too much. She led him on a course that skirted the village entirely, and Antal's face clouded with perplexity when he saw the landscape of the ruins in the near distance.

"Tosia? Do you know where we are going?" he asked, worried. "The cliff side is that way." He pointed just off to his left, at the cliffs in the hazy, snow-filled horizon.

"Yes, Antal. My eyes are not that bad yet, nor has my mind suddenly left me. We are not going to the cliffs today." She squeezed his arm in reassurance and continued to lead them in the direction of the ruins. "There is something I must to do here."

When they reached the uneven, barren landscape, she released Antal's arm and limped over the rough ground. Though the early snowfall had halfway filled it, Tosia easily found the short trench that John had created. As she stumbled alongside the ragged hole, she marveled again at how deep he had managed to dig with his bare hands alone.

_Such determination..._ she thought with both admiration and fear for what remained of the man's sanity.

Glancing around, she found the long pole John had previously used as leverage. It was stained brown in places from the blood on his hands, but Tosia paid it no mind. She drove one end deep into the side of the trench, and the pole was tall enough to stand free above all but the worst of snowfalls. Tosia stepped back, satisfied. She shivered with cold, and the pain in her side nearly had her gasping, but there was one more thing she needed to do before returning home.

Clambering away from the trench, she lost her footing on the slick ground and would have fallen had Antal not quickly caught hold of her. She hadn't even realized that he had been hovering close behind her, but she was grateful to him for that.

Nodding vaguely in thanks, Tosia held tight to her grandson as she resolutely made her way to the graveside. Kneeling down in the snow and mud, she ran a hand over the stone marker that she had carved herself. Brushing aside the dirt and snow that obscured Gaereth's name, she whispered an apology for not having visited him. For trying to forget him. He deserved better than that, and she was ashamed of her betrayal. She had laid him to rest alongside the place that had offered him such needed hope, because she'd thought that was what he would have wanted. She hadn't meant to abandon him here, but that is exactly what she had done.

Laying her hand on the inscription she had carved beneath his name, _beatae memoriae, _she silently asked for his forgiveness, and she made him one more unspoken promise.

"Tosia, do you know who's buried here?" Antal said, breaking into her thoughts, his voice rising in excitement at the prospect of a mystery revealed.

It took a moment until Tosia thought she'd be able to speak without her voice wavering. "Yes, I knew him. He was… a very fine man." She quickly wiped the moisture from her eyes that she told herself was nothing more than irritation from the icy wind. "One day, I shall tell you all about him."

"You will?" Antal gaped, surprised. "How did you know him? What was his name? What happened to him? Why is he buried here, instead of in the village graveyard?"

Tosia pulled herself to her feet, breathing hard and clutching Antal's strong hand for leverage. "Today is not that day, Antal," she said, ignoring the disappointment that immediately fell on the young man's face. "Let us go home now."

---A---

The snows continued to fall, and the wind howled an incessant complaint, rattling and banging open and shut the barn doors with every strong gust. John sat slumped against a hay bale, bandaged hands held against his chest, and every time one of the barn doors swung open, he saw a world that was slowly becoming blanketed in white. And with each flash of white, the faces trapped within his mind imposed themselves like reverse negatives against that blank slate. Their wide-open mouths were black anguished holes against the stark white. Their cries mingled with that of the wind – howling, crying, begging, pleading.

John's hands flew to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut. He began to rock.

The voices only grew louder. He began to hum, mimicking that single note of the ruins. The voices were louder still, but he refused to listen and kept humming. He forced himself to focus solely on the sound of his own voice, and thankfully, in time, he was able to tune them all out. Even when he had to pause and cough from the congestion still filling his lungs, he managed to keep the voices at bay.

He didn't resist when Antal led him back into the hut and peeled off the layers of warm clothing he been bundled in, or when he was sat down in front of the roaring hearth. He couldn't focus his attention on the occupants of the hut working around him. Not with the other maddened faces continually vying for his attention, darting and flitting across his vision. Over the sounds of their mad, distant screaming and his own humming, he didn't hear the door opening and closing when Antal brought in more firewood from time to time, keeping them warm against the growing cold.

When Lasca unsuccessfully tried to pry John's hands away from his ears so that she could give him a cup of warm broth, a part of him wanted to obey her. A part of him wanted to explain to her that he was afraid that if he uncovered his ears and let the voices take over, the screaming of the dead souls would finally ensnare him for good, and so he couldn't let go. When she pressed the cup to his mouth and tried to coax him to drink, he took a few sips that he was unable to taste. The rest dribbled down his chin because he'd forgotten to swallow. He vaguely puzzled and frowned at Lasca's frustrated expression when she wiped it away.

Though she was a hazy, but regular presence beside him over the past days, he didn't register that Tosia had taken to huddling so close in front of the fireplace that she was in danger of igniting herself. Even though she had wrapped herself in a shroud of so many blankets that only her face was visible, it was as if she could never get warm enough. When John, for a brief moment, became aware enough of her presence to glance at her, a distant part of his mind thought he was gazing upon a corpse.

"Do I truly look as bad as that, John?" she said with a cackle, and the sound of her voice broke through the other voices, even through his own droning one. At the same time, the meaning of her words didn't sink in. Not really. She continued talking, and so he focused on the sound of her voice. Like he had done before, like that one night when they'd shared the warmth of the flames, the same manner in which they were doing now, he listened to her words. Sometimes, when he was able to concentrate on it, her quiet voice calmed him. Sometimes, as it did now, it penetrated the swirling, screaming miasma in his head, like a distant beacon of light that he could focus on.

"I remember when I was a girl," she said in that soft, low voice, "my father would sometimes take me to the mainland, and we would pretend to live like savages. Lighting bonfires and roasting the fish we caught in the sea for our dinner, sleeping on the ground and looking up at the stars. Somehow, the stars looked different on the mainland than they did from home. My father would tell me of the old myths and fables to help me fall asleep, but I could never get enough of them. Always asking him for more, more. Sometimes, I miss those stories. Or maybe I just miss being that girl who had no idea what life had in store for her. All she wanted or needed back then was one more story."

John watched her without really seeing her, waited for her to continue speaking so he'd have something to hold onto, but she fell silent. The other voices, the screaming voices, raised in pitch, and so he began humming again, his gaze drifting to the dancing flames. He tried not to see the howling faces that formed in the sparks and shadows. He tried to shut them out, tried not to see, tried not to hear, but a part of his mind despaired that if he tuned out too much, that if he hid for too long, he would never find his way back.

* * *

---tbc---


	11. Chapter 11

Ah, you guys are so awesome, but patience, m'dearies. Your questions – and many others – will be answered in the next episode of Soap. No, wait, in the next chapter… Well, some of them, anyway. But seriously now, I'm pretty much done tweaking and fussing with this next batch of already written chapters and will post them as quickly as I can. The last 4-ish chapters, or so, I hope to complete very, very soon. And here we go!

* * *

Tosia didn't hear the latch of the door but John did, his eyes snapping in the direction of the rattling sound. The door was pushed open with a squawk of worn hinges, and a blast of icy afternoon air chilled the room. He shivered from the sudden cold and tensed at the sight of the men on the other side of threshold.

John clambered to his feet, bumping into the old woman's chair. Tosia jolted awake, a question poised on her lips. She saw John towering over her, his body tensed and wary, and she followed his gaze.

"Silas… Urvan," she breathed out, startled, as she looked at the men who had just stepped uninvited into her home. Behind them were three others, two of whom she recognized from the week before. "Have you forgotten such proprieties as knocking?"

Four of the men had the sense to look chastened. Silas only folded his arms over his burly chest.

"I see you have not taken our advice," he said with a jerk of his chin in John's direction.

"And what advice was that?" Tosia countered, slowly rising to her feet, taking hold of John's forearm to steady herself. Despite her words, she knew full well to what Silas was referring. There was undisguised menace in his voice and demeanor, and it sent a cold wave of fear through her.

"The storm has finally broken," Silas said almost casually, as though he hadn't heard her. "Now would be a good time as any to bring him back to his kind."

Tosia stared at the man, stunned. "You cannot be serious."

"I am most serious."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Tosia's fingers tightened involuntarily on John's arm. She could feel his muscles bunching under her fingers, but he didn't pull away from her. In fact, he stepped a little closer, almost protectively. "Has another tribe come knocking at your door, looking for him, Silas?" Tosia questioned with an upraised eyebrow, hoping some levity would diffuse the air of tension, of impending violence. "Have you gone exploring during the past week, despite the storm, and come upon another village that I have not yet heard tell of?"

"Do not talk foolishness, old woman," Silas growled. "We are sending him back to his kind _before_ more of them come here! They have come before, and they will come again, demanding food and shelter. You have witnessed this yourself! We do not need or want any more mouths to feed, nor do we want to attract the attention of the Wraith!"

"And you believe that this one lost, injured man will bring all of that down upon us?" Tosia stole a glance at John who was watching Silas with narrowed eyes. "If that is so, then you are more of a fool than I suspected."

"That is enough!" Silas shouted. "We stay amongst ourselves, we do not venture far beyond the village and the Wraith stay away. That is how it has always been."

"No it is not!" Tosia protested, raising a hand in a placating gesture. She had to try to talk some sense into the man, and not rally him any further. "You do not understand, Silas, it is not that simple—"

"Yesterday, Magda died of fever, only two days after the death of Daria's newborn, and the winter has only started."

Tosia blinked, shock coursing through her at the news of her old friend's death. Magda, gone! She had visited with Magda only last week, the very day Tosia had found John in the ruins… And Daria, to have lost her first child… The poor girl was the great-grand daughter of one of the woman banished along with Tosia so many years back. Daria was only fifteen years old. Too young to have to face such terrible grief.

Silas's rough growl startled her from her thoughts. "We are taking him with or without your consent, Tosia. The time for discussion has long past."

Tosia held tight to John's arm and decided right there and then that the fools would have to go through her first if they wanted to make good on their threat. She strained to see past Silas's tall frame and the other men to the still open doorway.

"Where is Kornel?" she demanded, suddenly noticing the man's absence. "Surely he did not agree to this?" When Silas and the others didn't answer, Tosia nodded, understanding, and the realization was a chilling one. "I see. You are doing this of your own accord, then. Too much the impetuous cowards to await Kornel and the other elders' decision."

"_Kornel_ is the coward," Silas replied with a sneer. "He would not make a decision, and so we made it for him. Now step aside, Tosia. Or is this stranger you are so determined to protect such a coward himself that he needs to hide behind an old woman?"

Tosia straightened and positioned herself in front of John, ignoring the childish jibe for what it was. "If you do this, then you are condemning this man to die. You realize this, don't you? All of you?" Tosia paused to look each of the men in the eye. "He will freeze to death out there. Will that bring back those we have lost? Are you willing to commit murder for the sake of a few extra bites of bread in your bellies?"

"His kind will come for him," Silas stated.

"Is that what you have told these men to justify your actions?"

"It is the truth!"

"It is _not!"_ Tosia shouted. "John has been here for weeks now! If 'his kind' were coming for him, then they would have come long ago! Listen to what you are saying! All of you are blaming an innocent man for that which has plagued us for decades. Will you make him your scapegoat? A sacrifice to imaginary deities? Are you willing to return to such savagery?!"

The other men exchanged nervous, shame-faced glances, but Tosia paid them no mind. Never had she thought her own people capable of this… this madness. This mindless, dangerous, superstitious fear.

One of the other men, Torin, spoke up. "Let us not make this more difficult than it has to be," he said quietly, shuffling his feet, clearly uncomfortable. He was scarcely out of his teens, but still old enough to know better, Tosia thought angrily.

"This does not have to be difficult, at all, boy," she glowered at the young man. "Each of you leave now, and we will not speak of this again."

Silas narrowed his eyes, as though deciding what to do next. Tosia refused to step away from John, and the men seemed reluctant to show any display of force. She wondered who would make the first violent move. She worried that Lasca and Antal would arrive home from the village at the worst possible moment and spur the men into startled action.

In the end, John made the decision for them when he suddenly darted away from her. Tosia would never be certain what his intentions had been, for he'd only taken a few steps in the direction of the door when Silas and one of the other men lunged forward and grabbed his arms. John immediately began struggling, trying to pull his arms free and furiously kicking at their legs.

The other three rushed in. One of them snatched hold of one of John's hands, twisting hard. John yelped in pain and thrashed against them, fighting as though he knew his very life depended on it. His foot connected with Silas's shin, and the man bellowed. Silas punched at John's head, but John managed to dodge the blow.

One of the men slipped in behind him and snatched at John's hair, yanking his head back, and he cried out in pain and protest. He kicked again, and Torin darted to the side, grabbing hold of John's boot and twisting his foot, throwing him off-balance. John would have fallen had his upper arms not been so tightly held. Suddenly all his weight was being supported by his assailants and the only weapons left to him were his legs. John lashed his other foot out at Torin, connecting with the young man's lower belly. Torin gasped and doubled over, his hands flying to his middle. Then a fist came from nowhere and slammed into John's cheekbone. He sagged in the men's grip, stunned by the blow.

Tosia grabbed a pan from the block in the kitchen and swung it down on one man's back. He twisted about with a yowl, snatching at her arm, and without intending to, yanked her right into the fray. She staggered into John, her ankle twisting, pain radiating up her legs, hips and to her side. The collision seemed to revive John, and with a furious growl, he yanked one of his arms free and wrapped it over the old woman's shoulders. He curled his body around hers, straining against the men holding him and shoving at him in an attempt to protect her.

"Stop this!"

Urvan's sudden, loud shout broke through like a gunshot in a crowd, and the other men froze. Tosia leaned against John's side, gasping for breath, her hand held tight to her ribs. Urvan shoved his way forward and helped her regain her footing, gently pulling her from John's protective one-armed embrace and moving her away from the other men.

Tosia was too surprised to protest or resist.

Silas stared in astonishment at Urvan, adrenaline still spurring him on. He yanked John's left arm behind his back in a hold so tight that his shoulder was in danger of dislocating. John groaned, tried to twist free, and Torin quickly grabbed his other arm.

"We all agreed that there would be no violence!" Urvan shouted. "That he would not be harmed! Have you all taken leave of your senses?" Urvan stepped back from them, his homely features filled with an odd mixture of fury and disgust.

Shaking, Tosia glared at Silas. "Urvan is right. You have all gone completely mad! Now let him go!"

Silas and the others only glared back at her.

"He will listen to me," Tosia implored, furious at the pleading note of surrender to her voice, but she knew this was a battle she could not win. "He will come with me, if I ask him to. Do you understand what I'm saying?" she spat, her furious gaze fixed on Silas and Torin. "Now let him go, you despicable cowards!"

Urvan looked to the men. "Do as she says!' he snapped.

Reluctantly, Silas released his grip. Torin followed a moment later. John staggered a few steps away from them, breathing hard. He pulled his left arm forward with a wince and held his hands out in front in him, prepared to fight for all he was worth.

"John…" Tosia called to him, keeping her voice soft, like she had done that first night with him. "It is all right. No one will hurt you anymore. It is all right."

His eyes flitted around her. He sidestepped her, stealing a glance at the open door, but the other men placed themselves in front of it, blocking his only exit. Stumbling backward toward the hearth, John gritted his teeth, panting with exertion. He clenched his bandaged fists and braced himself for what would come next.

Tosia followed his steps, slowly reaching for his wrist. John's gaze darted from Tosia to the men, but he allowed her to touch him. Tosia gently pulled his hand to her. She saw that it had started bleeding again, bright red staining the cloth, and anger rushed through her at that. She could feel him shaking from both adrenaline and fear. Reaching up with her other hand, she gently rubbed his shoulder.

"It is all right now, John," she repeated. "Shall we go outside? The storms seemed to have stopped. Shall we go out and take a look for ourselves?"

John's gaze flicked in her direction then stayed on the other men who stood still, tensely waiting and watching their every move. Tosia could all but read the confusion on John's face. He scowled as his eyes fixed upon Silas, his fists tightened. Tosia reached up, and with both hands, took gentle hold of John's chin and turned his face so he could look only at her.

"John, listen to me," she said firmly. "You must come with me, and you must trust me. Can you do that?"

She wasn't certain if he understood her, but some of the tension left his body, and he allowed her to slowly and carefully steer him toward the door. She helped him put on his battered green jacket, then pulled Antal's old, worn cloak over it, tucking it snug around his neck. She then reached for her own cloak.

"What are you doing, old woman?" Silas demanded.

"What does it look like?" Tosia snapped right back. "I am coming with you."

Silas shook his head. "No… that is—"

"If you are going to do this to him, Silas, then I am coming with you."

Silas opened his mouth to protest, but Urvan silenced him with a firm shake of his head. Tosia marveled at the man's sudden display of backbone. She only wished he would do more. That he would talk some sense into the others, but that was useless dreaming at best. While pulling on her cloak, she ensured to stay as close to John as she could, never once taking her eyes off Silas's menacing form.

Taking firm hold of John's wrist, Tosia led him outside, slowing her steps to match his uncertain ones. The afternoon air was startlingly cold, but as Silas had said, the storm had passed. The sky was a murky, dull white and she could see only a speck of sun. A mule stood tethered to the fence that Gaereth had built so long ago. Tosia, in disgust, surmised that the men had planned to throw John over the animal's back and haul him away like so much unwanted garbage.

Urvan unhitched the beast and they began walking. Still holding fast to John's arm, Tosia stumbled in the deep snow, her breaths harsh rasps around her. Urvan offered to boost her onto the mule's back, but she shook her head in refusal. He hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder, and Tosia jerked sharply away from him.

"Do _not_ touch me," she hissed, and Urvan nodded, dropping his head. When she stumbled again, a half-mile later, John had the presence of mind to pull her up and kept her arm tightly grasped in his.

As they neared the cliffs, Tosia had to swallow hard to be able to speak around her racing heart. She knew she was far too old for such strenuous activity, but like most things in her life, she had no choice but to follow through.

"That is where I found him," she said in a rasp, pointing at a deep furrow in the cliff face. "And that is as far as we will go."

Silas shook his head. "It is not far enough from the village."

"If you are going to stay true to your word and that you truly believe John's people will come for him, then we will leave him _exactly_ where I found him. Or are you a liar, as well as a coward, Silas?"

Silas's back stiffened, but the other men were watching him carefully now, with unspoken questions on their faces. They may have believed Silas for a time, but Tosia's word, as elder, still counted for something, she realized with stark relief.

"Fine. That is where we will leave him," Silas said with a shrug, as though it were his idea all along.

Tosia could feel droplets of chilled moisture in the air and knew the snow would soon begin to fall once more. With each step they took, her heart sank a little further and despair threatened to take hold. John was still weak and running a fever, she knew. No… he would very likely not last the night out here.

They had to climb a short incline to reach the crevasse. Tosia could taste blood in her mouth, but there was nothing to be done about that. John followed willingly, but slowly, gazing up at the dark opening in the rock.

The others stood back as Tosia led John into the small cave. It wasn't much wider than he was tall and only a few feet deep, but it would at least offer him some shelter, as it had sheltered her those first few terrible days here. Tosia leant against the rocky surface to catch her breath, and a wave of dizziness poured over her so suddenly, she had to sit down before she fell. Momentum caused her to yank on John's arm, and he awkwardly sat down beside her, watching her with an expression so close to concern, she wondered how aware he was of his surroundings, of the danger he was in.

"It is all right, John," Tosia whispered to him, patting his arm. "I am simply much too old for this. Do you remember me telling you of this place?"

As if in response, John looked away from her to gaze at the markings scratched on the stone wall. He raised a bloodied hand, hesitated a moment, then ran his fingers over the fading marks. With a sharp piece of crystallized rock, Tosia had made those marks herself, so many years ago. Her name and the number of days she had hidden and despaired here. She had also drawn a rough outline of a bird, as though longing for her lost freedom, indelibly capturing the creature as surely as she was bound to this place.

"All right, Tosia," Silas spoke up, impatient, making her jump. "We will be heading back now."

"Fine, take your leave then," Tosia said, waving a dismissive hand in the man's direction. She couldn't help but run her own cold fingers over those three marks. Three days she had waited, and then the others, and Gaereth had come. She remembered feeling both immense relief and remorse over their arrival, their equal sentence.

"We will not leave here without you, old woman," Silas said slowly. "Despite our words, we are still family, Tosia."

Tosia briefly closed her eyes, shook her head and silently damned the man to every version of hell she'd heard tell of. "You are no kin of mine, Silas."

Silas's face colored with either anger, or shame, and he held out his hand. "Let us go now."

Gritting her teeth, and ignoring the man, Tosia pulled herself to a kneeling position. She shuffled close to John on the pretense of pulling his cloak tighter around his neck. "Stay here, John. Do you understand me?" she whispered, close to his ear. John only kept studying the marks on the stone, his bloodied fingers now tracing over the etched bird; its scratched-in wings, the light, graceful curve of tail feathers, staining the lines with red.

"John!" she hissed, placing her hands on either side of his face. "Look at me!" He resisted a moment, then allowed her to turn his face toward hers. His right eye was rapidly blackening and swelling, and Tosia cursed Silas once more.

"Fly," John said in a soft, pensive voice, straining to look back at the bird, his fingers still pressed to the stone, and Tosia wondered why it so captivated his attention.

"John, please listen to me," she implored, speaking low and close to his ear and staring into his eyes, willing him to understand. "Stay here, out of the wind. I will come back for you soon as I can, but you _must_ _stay here_."

He blinked, his gaze shifting from her eyes to her mouth, his brows pulling together as he struggled to comprehend the urgency of her words. Tosia could only hope he understood enough to stay put, to try to stay warm. She pulled his hand away from the wall, tucked the folds of the too-long sleeves over his fingers, drew his hood up around his neck and head again. With a heavy heart, Tosia reluctantly pulled herself to her feet. The other men had the good sense not to offer her a hand. She turned away, unable to look at John anymore.

Then she heard a soft, "S-stay…"

Tosia turned back to John in surprise, but he was looking at the marks on the stone once more. She was uncertain if he'd meant that he would, in fact, stay put or if he was asking her not to leave him alone. Maybe it was a little of both.

On the way back to the village, darkness already creeping over the sky, bone-deep fatigue overtook her, and Tosia reluctantly allowed Urvan to help her onto the mule's back. She was exhausted in both body and spirit, and she needed to save her strength for what was still to come.

As they neared her home, Tosia could hear Antal calling for her. With effort, Tosia slid from the animal's back. Some of the other men veered off in another direction, but she noted that Silas and Torin, who led the mule behind him, only continued walking to a nearby hut, evidently to keep an eye on her throughout the long, coming night. Urvan hesitated a moment, as though he wanted to say something to her, but then he turned and walked away alone, quickly disappearing into the growing shadows.

Both Antal and Lasca rushed up to her. Lasca put her arms around the old woman, astonished by how badly she was shaking. "Mother, are you all right? Where were you? Where is John?"

Tosia raised a hand, waving off the flurry of questions. "I am all right, Lasca. Only a little tired." She pulled away from Lasca's grip, but the younger woman kept her arm around Tosia's shaking shoulders.

"Look at Lornce's hut," Tosia asked her, "are they going inside?"

"Who?"

"Silas and Torin."

Lasca squinted in the direction a moment, then answered with, "Yes, but why—"

"Let us go home now, Lasca," Tosia said, unaware that she was weaving on her feet.

"Yes, we will…" Lasca paused to glance around, worried, "but Mother, where is John?"

"Let us go inside, Lasca. Antal…" Tosia reached for her grandson's arm, and he moved closer so that she could lean against his warm strength. "It is much too cold out here."

Something caught in her eyelashes and she looked up the sky. It had begun snowing again.

* * *

--- tbc ---


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters belong to their respective owners.

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When Antal climbed up the slope to the cliff side, the crevasse was so black and so fathomless, his heart clenched in fear that John had wandered off. He raised Tosia's lamp, and squinting, he finally made out a solid shadow that when he stepped closer, materialized into John's huddled form.

Antal rushed inside the rock enclave and crouched beside the older man, placing the lamp beside them. John had curled up on his side in a tight, shivering ball. His face was tucked down, turned into the deep hood of his cloak, and only a few strands of dark hair were visible.

"John?" Antal whispered, not wishing to frighten the other man, his breath misting like tendrils of fog in the freezing air. When John didn't react, Antal grasped his shoulder and lightly shook him. John gasped and startled badly. He shoved instinctively at the young man, and Antal toppled onto his backside with a squawk. Moving with the astonishing speed that always caught Antal by surprise, John scrabbled away from him, to the opposite corner. Antal couldn't make out John's expression through the deep shadows obscuring his face – only a flash of teeth and the whites of his eyes – but Antal could tell that John was scared.

"John, it is all right," Antal told him, slowly raising the lamp again. He shined it on his own face. "Look! It is me! Antal!"

John blinked at him, bleary-eyed with cold and the remnants of sleep. Squinting against the blue-tinged light, he surprised Antal by cautiously shuffling closer to him. The young man grinned and patted John on the shoulder. He was shivering so hard that he was almost vibrating. Antal could even hear John's teeth rattling together, and a pang of sympathy for the other man rushed through him.

"I am sorry we took so long to come get you, John, but Tosia said that we had to wait until it was all dark outside," Antal explained. "We even had to go out to the barn first and sneak through the back door. Tosia says it's important that this is a secret and no one sees us. But we must go now, all right, John?"

John watched him carefully, not moving, his posture still hunched and tensed.

"Come, John, we must go to the ruins." Antal took hold of John's left arm and lightly pulled it. John winced and yanked free. Shaking his head from side to side in negation, he wrapped both arms tight around his chest, rocking slightly. "John, we cannot stay here," Antal said, hoping he wouldn't have to force the other man to come along with him. "It is too cold, and Tosia is waiting for us."

John shook his head with greater vehemence and pressed his back hard against the rough stone wall. "S…s-stay," he whispered around chattering teeth, "w-w-wait."

"Oh!" Understanding dawned on Antal. "No, no – it is all right to leave now! Tosia says you must come with me, because she wants you to come with us to the ruins." Antal turned and pointed down the slope to the snow covered ground. "Tosia's right down there waiting for us. See her?" John's gaze followed Antal's hand, but Antal couldn't tell if the other man was able to see very far in the bleak darkness. "Tosia says that she's too old and too cranky to go climbing around on all these rocks all day, but you must come now so we can go with her to the ruins. You remember the ruins, don't you?"

Antal watched John for any sign of response. Save for the twin ruddy patches on his cheeks and the starkly contrasting bruise darkening his eye, John's skin was milky white with cold. Then he met Antal's gaze, and his lips moved soundlessly a few times. "'L-lan…tiss," he managed after a moment, in a soft, but firm voice.

Antal blinked, unsure what John meant by that, but decided it was best to agree with him. "Would you like to go there?" he asked carefully. "I'll take you there, if you want?"

John continued to stare into Antal's dark eyes, then nodded once – a short jerk of his head. Antal reached out his hand, but didn't attempt to touch John again and just waited. John's gaze shifted to the young man's strong, proffered hand and stayed there for a seemingly interminable amount of time. Just as Antal was about to give up and pull his hand back, John cautiously took it and allowed Antal to help him to his feet. He pulled away after that, but followed close behind Antal as he clambered down the short, icy slope.

At the bottom, Tosia stood shivering in her heavy layers of cloak, shawl and woolen blanket draped over her shoulders. She smiled at John when he stepped beside her and touched his cold, bruised cheek. "I told you I would come back for you, didn't I, Gaereth?"

Tromping through the deep snow to Tosia's other side Antal frowned at her. "Tosia, that's _John."_

The old woman scowled in confusion then shook her head, irritated with herself for the lapse. "Of course it is John," she sputtered. "A mere slip of the tongue, Antal. Let us go now before my old bones turn into brittle icicles."

The walk to the ruins was one of the longest Tosia could recall in her ample lifetime. With each step, it became more and more difficult to lift her feet high enough to clear the deep snow. With each step, daggers of pain shot through her hips, and the only good thing about that was that the agony overrode the constant burning in her side.

Her feet tangled in the heavy snow, and she fell suddenly, losing her grip on John's arm and landing right in front of him. He had to pull up short in a side step so that he wouldn't trip over her. Rolling onto her back, Tosia marveled at how soft the snow was. Like a blanket. If it weren't so cold, she'd want to curl up in it and sleep forever.

Antal, who had been walking a few steps ahead, turned when he realized that John and the old woman had fallen behind. "Tosia!" he exclaimed, rushing back and dropping to his knees beside her.

John stood hovering over them, blinking, snowflakes catching in his eyelashes. Tosia squinted up at him and thought of Gaereth's snow-filled eyes. How she longed to see him again... Antal babbled something at her but she couldn't focus on his words. The ground tilted all of a sudden, and it took a moment for her to realize that Antal held her cradled in his arms, as easily as if she were a small child. She heard him say something about going home.

"No!" Tosia protested, shaking her head, giving herself a mental shake. She had to stop this nonsense. She still had much to do, aching hips, wandering mind and infuriating old age be damned. "Antal, put me down," she ordered. "We are _not_ going home. We are going to the ruins. We are almost there." She pushed against Antal's chest when he didn't loosen his grip. "Antal! Let go!" He reluctantly released her, and with his help, she slid back to her feet.

"But Tosia, you mustn't…" Antal said, his face stricken.

"We are going to the ruins, Antal," she gasped. She looked at John who stood shivering uncontrollably, watching them both with a bewildered expression. Snow dusted his dark hair, and his lashes were still flecked with white. Tosia reached up and carefully brushed the flakes away. He blinked, scrunched his eyes shut a moment, but held still. Tosia smiled at him. "I made you a promise, didn't I, John?"

Once they reached the ruins, it didn't take long for them to unbury the window. Antal was more than willing to do the work while Tosia sat lightly dozing on the cold ground, leaning up against John, his bundled-up frame sheltering her from some of the wind.

When the window was uncovered, Antal cleared away the edges only to find the hard, impenetrable metal that Tosia knew would be there. She pondered the dilemma of how to get inside her lab without bringing the remaining precarious structuring down upon them. Moving closer to peer at the thick safety glass, she noticed it was badly cracked along the lower edge, by the ground.

Then she remembered the gun. She hadn't disposed of it after all, only hidden it in a crate in the barn. When she and Antal had slunk out there like thieves in the night, she hadn't at the time known why she'd decided to take the gun with her. Pulling the primitive weapon from within the folds of her cloak, she wondered if she could figure out its mechanics. She, of course, had seen similar weapons put to use many, many times before, but to fire one herself? That was another story.

Positioning the muzzle of the gun close to the deepest crack, she cautioned Antal to move John and himself back. She took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She tried again with the same result. Cursing under her breath, she wondered if the weapon were not fully charged, or if it perhaps was defective.

John surprised her by stepping up behind her and closing his hand around hers and the gun. Fumbling, his heavily bandaged fingers making the motion awkward, he adjusted something on the side of the gun, a little button as far as Tosia could make out. Then he slid the top of the gun back and released it with a loud click, making her jump. He kept one hand around the weapon, holding it steady. He pressed the tip of his bandaged index finger of his other hand against the one Tosia still held on the trigger. Tosia sucked in a breath, held still and prayed that her implicit trust in John were merited. He aimed at the fissure and lightly squeezed her finger.

The resulting boom and kickback caught Tosia so by surprise that she stumbled back against him. Then she let out a breathless whoop when she saw the fist-sized hole that had blossomed in the fissure. Antal stared at both of them in wide-eyed astonishment, his hands clamped over his ears, as though imitating John's actions of the weeks past. John stood tensed, his gaze focused, every inch the soldier again.

Tosia squeezed the trigger one more time, firing again and again, John holding her arm steady, his body bracing her against the impact. The safety glass crackled and splintered around them, then a large piece fell away, disappearing inside.

Tucking the gun back in her cloak, Tosia took hold of the pole she'd used to mark the place and banged it on the remaining crackled glass. Antal, realizing what she was doing, jumped down beside her and began kicking at it. Glass creaked and groaned like ice breaking over a lake. More glass fell away inside the lab, and there was finally a hole large enough to slip through.

Antal crouched down, cupped his hands beside his eyes and peered inside. "What is this place, Tosia?" His voice was quiet, almost reverential. "Why didn't you tell me this was here?"

"John was the one who found it," she answered truthfully.

Antal turned to look at John, then at his hands, at once realizing the manner in which he had injured himself. "He shouldn't have done that by himself. I could have helped him dig," Antal said almost remorsefully.

Tosia smiled at her grandson. "Yes, you could have. I am sure if John were able to, he would have asked you for your help." Tosia shivered and clutched her cloak tighter around her neck, nearly swaying on her feet with fatigue.

"Why did we come here, Tosia?" Antal asked, scowling at her in confusion and concern. "Why don't we go home and come back tomorrow, when it's not so cold and when you are feeling better?"

"I wish we could," Tosia said, blinking tiredly, "but John cannot come home with us, Antal." She pointed at the hole in the glass. "He will be safer here, inside, where it is warmer."

"But why—"

"Antal, please. Enough questions, now," Tosia said, waving her hand. She painfully got to her own knees, peered through the glass and pondered how best for them to climb into the room without injuring themselves. There was a great deal of debris – fallen shelves, smashed bottles and vials so old they had almost reverted to their original sand, decayed, moldering books, and what she recognized as her flattened desk.

It was maybe a six-foot drop from the hole they had created. Not far, but far enough for her to easily break her legs if she weren't careful. And wouldn't that be a bitter irony, Tosia thought, almost chuckling at the thought. To come all this way only to shatter herself like those broken vials on the floor of her own laboratory?

"Tosia, how are we going to get down?" Antal asked softly, for fear of further irritating her and unknowingly voicing her own question.

As though in reply, John lightly pushed past Antal, crouched down to grasp the outside edges of the thick glass, swung his legs forward, and before Tosia could shout for him to be careful, he jumped in. Like a cat, he twisted and dropped to the one empty spot on the floor, easily landing on his feet.

Tosia stared down at him a moment, stunned, then muttered under her breath, "To be that young and agile again..."

Antal grinned down at John and positioned himself in the same manner. He slid his feet into the hole, looking down uncertainly.

"Careful, Antal," Tosia cautioned.

The young man nodded, sucked in a deep breath and then pushed himself off the glass ledge. Unlike John, he landed hard and crashed into the toppled bookshelf, bringing down mummified books on top of him in a shower of dust and loose pages.

Tosia darted her head inside, her heart pounding. "Antal! Are you all right?"

He slowly sat up and called out a shaky 'yes.' He absently rubbed the back of his head and stared around the cluttered room in amazement. To his right, fragments of boulders and dirt spilled in around the partially collapsed ceiling and outer walls. He smelled ash, wet soil and decay. There was a very faint humming, droning sound all around him, so low, he hadn't at first noticed it, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

A broken piece of curved stone with strange symbols encircling its surface lay half-buried in the muck. A few shattered glyphs, like the ones he had found on the surface lay near his hand. Long, metallic columns had toppled into the piles of dirt and rock, their sheared-off ends jutting out like broken bones. Antal looked up at the one thick column that remained intact, and though he didn't realize it, that column was the only thing keeping the remainder of the ceiling from toppling down upon them.

John, he noticed, was leaning over some sort of carved counter, running his hands over it. With each pass of his bandaged hand, the intact portions of the room came to life. Tiny lights blinked on, and the humming grew louder, groaning like a sleeping beast accidentally wakened.

"Antal!"

Antal nodded absently and clambered to his feet, still staring in wonder, turning in a slow circle. The place was like a magical world he had stumbled upon. A world he would have imagined in his dreams, had he known something like this even existed.

"Antal – stop gawping and help me down!" Tosia shouted, pounding a fist against the glass in frustration. She shook her head in bemusement when Antal smacked himself in the forehead and rushed over to where she waited.

Looking around, he found a wide metal stool that was miraculously intact, set in down just beneath Tosia's dangling legs and clambered onto it. Tosia slid in a few feet and Antal reached up, grasped her around her waist and carefully helped her down.

Tosia didn't allow herself to look at everything too closely just yet. Instead, she focused on her grandson and set her jaw. "Now, you must go home, Antal, and tell your mother that John and I are all right. But you must not tell anyone, not even Lasca about this place, do you understand?"

"But Tosia..."

"Do as I say, Antal!" Tosia said sharply. She was so tired she felt as though she were floating.

"But how are you going to get home? You said that John must stay here, but _you_ must come home with me. You cannot walk through all that snow by yourself."

"You are right, I cannot walk all that way. In fact, I am far too tired to walk another step," she said truthfully, "so I will stay here with John. We will both be just fine until morning. See, it is much warmer in here," she reassured him.

And it _was_ warmer. The air was cool, but tolerable, and the lab well insulated. Tosia herself had seen to that. Yes, they would be all right until morning. And then she would have to figure out what to do next.

"Then I will stay, too," Antal stated, jutting his jaw.

"Antal, I promised your mother we would be home soon. You must go back now or she will go out looking for us," Tosia ordered, and gave her grandson a none too gentle shove, turning him in the direction of the dark hole. She could see snowflakes swirling just outside. "Go now. No more arguments."

Antal sighed with resignation, gave the room one last awed appraisal, then nodded. He climbed back onto the stool, wobbling slightly and pulled himself out. Tosia was about to let out a breath of relief when Antal stuck his head back in.

"Tosia?"

"What is it, Antal?" Tosia said, barely containing her impatience.

"I will come for you at first light, all right?"

"All right – now go!" Tosia waved her hand in a shooing gesture. "And go back the same way we came! Do not let anyone see you, remember?"

"I remember," Antal said in an irritated, sing-songy voice, and disappeared into the night.

Tosia turned away from the window and jumped when a bright light winked on, then off. She turned to John, but he wasn't touching or pressing anything. Instead, he was gazing up the far wall, at the light that was embedded inside. Tosia marveled that it still even worked after all these years. It blinked on again, bright, almost too bright, then slowly faded, illuminating the small room in a soft glow.

Tosia stared at John. There was no way he could be controlling the lights. Only those born in the great city could do that. No, she decided, the lights must simply be malfunctioning.

With the room illuminated in the muted light, Tosia was clearly able to see what was left of her lab, and old memories rose to the surface. Watching the first villagers through the monitors, observing their actions, studying the changing climate of their artificially created society and landscape. Laughing with her colleagues over trivial matters when they grew bored of their test subjects. Packing up and returning back home through the gate, leaving their subjects to their miserable existences while she and her fellow scientists shared warm, plentiful meals and slept in soft, comfortable beds.

Her gaze drifted to what was left of the gate – the one they had placed down here to easily come and go, and for the eventual possibility that the society they'd created would one day become advanced enough to travel and trade with other civilizations. All that remained of the gate was a three-foot curve of broken stone, and the sight brought a rush of grief for her old, long ago life.

John wandered the room, running his fingers along the one solid wall, shuffling his feet through the debris on the floor. He went to the far back corner, and Tosia saw, crusted with dirt and scattered bits of debris, that the circular, cargo transporter still stood. They had still been testing its capabilities and hadn't used it much, and it was seemingly, amazingly intact. Her heart leapt with an odd surge of hope. She followed John, her heart racing, skipping a beat or two with excitement, with inexplicable fear… and this could not be…

Tosia laid her hand flat on the outside panel and waited, but nothing happen. She shouldn't have been disappointed, but she was. She let her hand drop.

Watching her with his head tilted speculatively, John stared at the same panel. Almost casually, he passed his own hand over it. The doors shuddered, then slid open with a faint grinding noise. The tracks of lights inside lit up, one by one.

Tosia gasped and stood staring in wonderment. _Was it even possible...? _she thought, her heart racing even faster. _No, the city sleeps, _she reminded herself. _There is no one left to waken it…_ _But oh... to see it again. Just one more time..._

John turned to look at her, and his face lit up with a startlingly radiant smile. Then he stepped inside.

"John, no!"

Without thinking, Tosia, moving faster than she thought her old bones would allow, hurled herself in after him. John caught her, holding her up and a loud humming noise filled her head, thrummed in her bones. John laughed with sudden childlike, joyous delight.

Something tugged at her and though she could still feel John's arms supporting her, she was suddenly weightless, floating, drifting, pulling...

And then the world went silent and white.

* * *

---tbc---


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

John opened his eyes to dark blue, to indigo-tinged metallic walls and columns. To windows filled with bubbling, silvery water. The air smelled like iron, brine and the ozone of incipient thunderstorms. He recognized this smell. It smelled like home, yet this wasn't home. Was it?

He stumbled forward a few steps, his boots slogging and pulling and then he was suddenly on his knees. Water splashed around him, soaking him up to his lower thighs. His head swam, his eyes burned, and he had to put his hands down in the murky water to steady himself. He looked up, and the room was dark, so dark, and it was so cold. He was tired of being cold. He shivered and then something whirred and warm air began to waft in around him.

Water splashed as someone shuffled beside him. The old woman. _Tosia,_ he reminded himself. She sloshed through the water, moving in slow circles around him, gazing all about, tears streaming down her face. "It is all still here," she whispered. "It is still here after all these years. Just as I left it."

John watched her as he struggled to his feet. He had to squint to see her in the gloom, and then their surroundings suddenly became a little brighter, fading from navy to deep cyan.

Tosia stumbled to the window, placed her hands on its cool surface and looked up, watching the bubbles as they made their endless way to the surface. "The city still sleeps, John. After so many years, it sleeps on and on."

John blinked at her, trying to focus on her voice, and all at once, her words broke through. He shook his head, because they weren't right. _She wasn't right, she couldn't be right… _He waded over to her. He looked through the window at the watery world it held back. Through the wash of bubbles he saw creatures swimming by, angling, zigzagging alongside the window with careless abandon.

_No, no…_ he thought, a pang of fear rushing through him, _it's not supposed to be like this…_

The voices, as always, clamored for his attention, but he ignored them. The interminable faces trapped in his mind appeared to swirl and twist in the water, screaming at him, mocking him, but John turned away from them. He didn't want to look at them anymore. Instead, he gazed around the unfamiliar room.

No, this was not right, at all… This place wasn't right. This place filled with stacks and stacks of moldering papers, with objects that bobbed and floated around him like dead things. With long dormant, black-faced monitors that sat upon desks, shelves that were laden to almost overflowing with vials, boxes, tablets and books that had toppled and spilled over. The transporter doors had slid shut, and it was dark, cold and uninviting. He shivered again, tucking his sodden hands under his arms.

Then he noticed a door at the opposite end of the room. He rushed to it as fast as the knee-deep water would allow. He willed the door to open, but it didn't budge. Beside it, a small panel lit up and made a soft chirping noise. He scowled and pressed his hand on it. The panel beeped at him again, but the door refused to move. He punched the panel, hard, wincing at the flare of pain in his knuckles and fingers.

A slow panic began to build in his chest. He wanted out of here. He'd only wanted to go home, and home had to still be here somewhere. It _had_ to be. He had to _see…_

Tosia was beside him all of a sudden. "It needs a combination, John."

He ignored her and pressed his hand down harder, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain, but the door still wouldn't open. Tosia tried to pull his hand away, but he wouldn't let her. He had to get out of here.

"John, let me show you!"

John could only growl a wordless protest. All he wanted was out, out, out of here. Out of this room. He didn't like this place. It was so terribly familiar and not familiar all at the same time. Voices whispered all around him _shush, shush, shushing…_ so soft and so urgent, but he couldn't understand the words and he wanted _out!_

With a yell that echoed around them, he slammed his shoulder against the door. It didn't budge, and he pounded his hands wildly against it. The sharp pain that spiked from his fingertips all the way up to his shoulders made him cry out, but he didn't stop battering the hard metal, he had to get out of here…

"John!" Tosia shouted. She tugged on his arms. "Listen to me, John. _Listen._ Shh. It is all right."

Despite the stabbing pain in his hands, and the urgent need to leave this sunken, sleeping room _right now,_ John forced himself to hear her. He clung to the slick metal of the door and leant his cheek against it. The metal cooled his fevered skin, and he turned his head to look at her, blinking back the tears of frustration that obscured his vision.

"That's it," she said in that calming, soothing voice. "Everything is all right. I know this room. I know it so very well, and there is nothing here that can harm us," she told him, smiling, and finally, her voice broke through, loud and clear. He took a deep, shuddery breath and listened to the sound of her voice, to her softly reassuring words. "John, the door will likely not work for me, but I do think it will for you, if you let me show you how to open it. Can you do that? Will you allow me to take your hand now?"

He stared into her eyes, breathing hard and then nodded. He mutely held out his hand for her. She smiled again and took it, gently closing her fingers around the sodden bandages. Raising his hand, she clasped his index finger, moved it to one button, pushed, then another and another and pressed his hand flat. The door obediently opened. Water rushed out into the hallway like a small river.

John darted out before the door could change its mind and close again. Tosia kept firm hold of his hand, stumbling behind him. He forced himself to slow his steps to match her pace. The hallway was still, dark, empty and quiet, save for the dripping sounds, the humming sounds and the voices that still whispered incessantly to him.

Then the one voice that sometimes spoke to him broke through, the one that sounded so maddeningly familiar. It told him to _go up, go higher, John, go up, up. _He didn't know what that meant, but he listened all the same. He headed down the hall, all senses alert.

"John, wait – what are you doing?" Tosia protested, struggling to keep up with him, her feet icy cold and her wet cloak heavy and clinging to her legs. "How could you possibly know this place…?" Her voice faded as she tried to take everything in. "John, slow down!"

But he ignored her. There was a transporter at the end of the hall, and he rushed to it, Tosia's hand pulling on his as she stumbled after him. They stepped inside, and in his mind, he told it to go to the upper level without understanding why. Tosia kept talking to him, asking him questions, but he couldn't pay attention to her.

The doors opened again and he darted into a new hallway. Tosia's hand slipped from his, finally unable to keep up with him.

"John, _wait!"_

It was brighter here. So bright he had to squint until his eyes adjusted. A surge of relief, of familiarity rushed through him. Windows flanked the hallway in places, revealing clear blue sky and a glimpse of a vast sea. He paused in his steps. He remembered this. He remembered the sea; miles and miles of fathomless water the color of steel. Blurring into a streak of silver as he flew higher and higher over it.

He didn't notice Tosia stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of it, but he heard her shocked exhalation and murmurs of disbelief.

"How can this be?" she whispered, turning to him, her expression bewildered, imploring. "This is not possible. Who has done this?"

John could only frown in reply, and kept walking, running his fingers along the walls, over the cool glass, countless, scattered images of this very hallway rushing through his head. Then there were voices, low and masculine, in the near distance, and John stopped, his head tilted, listening.

"Not there… _there!" _One of the voices said, irritated.

A sigh, and then a different voice. "Yes, Rodney."

John thought he recognized the voices, and his heart began to race. He edged closer, close enough to see two figures huddled around a pillar. A loud zapping noise made him jump, and there was a shower of sparks. Both figures leapt back.

"Dammit, Radek! What did I just say!" The first voice sputtered, furious. "Shit!"

"That was _you,_ not me!"

"Oh, please… as if I'd ever do something so abysmally _stupid!"_

"Rodney – I know you have been upset since Colonel Sheppard… but it is not excuse to be insufferable."

John frowned at the sound of the familiar names and took a few steps closer, his boots squelching. Water dripped from the cuffs of his pants and the soaked lower half of his cloak.

"Oh, I can be _beyond_ insufferable if we don't get this done, ohhh, sometime today!" the first, annoyed voice said. "So would you please just shut the hell up and do what I tell you, for once?" There was a long silence. "_Thank_ you."

"Umm… Rodney."

"What did I _just_ say?"

"Rodney, _look!"_

"Oh, for Christ's sakes…" Rodney's gaze flicked in his colleague's direction, his hand still clasped on the pliers pinching a stubborn wire. Radek's mouth hung open in an 'oh' of astonishment, his eyes huge behind his glasses and fixed on something down the length of the corridor. Rodney turned to look, and his expression all at once mirrored Radek's. The pliers dropped from his hand and onto the floor with a clatter.

John watched the two men who were staring at him in stupefied amazement. He paid no attention to Tosia standing frozen in place, a few steps behind his back.

"Colonel Sheppard!" Radek exclaimed, suddenly finding his voice, then babbled something rapidly in Czech.

"What the… how—?" Rodney stammered, taking a few disbelieving steps in John's direction. "Jesus, Sheppard!" he finally managed, his hands fluttering, his eyes round with shock. "Give us all freaking heart attacks, why don't you?!"

John frowned at him, wary of the man's erratic movements. Rodney's eyes flicked to Tosia who stared wide-eyed at both men, as though gazing upon ghostly apparitions.

"Who the hell is _this?"_ Rodney demanded, pointing at the old woman.

Pinching his lips, John tensed as the man continually moved closer to him. He raised his hands and tried to clench them into fists, but his fingers were so cold they were almost numb.

Rodney slowed his movements, his expression morphing from shock to irritation. "Sheppard, it's _me,_ Rodney for God's sakes!"

John blinked at him and shook his head from side to side. Something was niggling at him, something important…

"Colonel…" Rodney said, his expression softening, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Sheppard, are you all right?"

A distant part of John struggled to recognize the man in front of him. He knew him, he knew the sound of his name, but it was as though the man were speaking to him from the long end of a faraway tunnel. Then John remembered standing under a narrow shelf of rock with him. He remembered this man telling him to do something. He remembered the sudden flare of watery light, feeling as though he were encased in concrete, the tidal wave of voices and images rushing through his head, the sudden, horrific pain. He remembered this man shouting his name, grabbing onto him, and then the voices took over, filling his head, screaming, screaming... He remembered screaming along with them… screaming so loud and for so long that his voice broke…

"No… nonono…stop… stop…" John moaned, his breath hitching, willing the images back, far away from him. _Shut it out, shut it out, shut it out! _the one, familiar voice in his head chanted. _Don't! _Shaking his head, John shuffled a few steps backward. He held his hands out, pleading, willing the other man to stay away from him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Rodney froze, stunned that his friend seemed terrified of him. "Sheppard… John… it's okay…" he said, holding his own hands out in a placating gesture, but John wouldn't look at him.

Tosia took hold of John's arm and pressed close beside him. She reached into the pocket of her cloak.

"What did you do to him?" Rodney demanded, glaring at her, his eyes flashing with sudden anger. "And where the _hell_ did you come from?"

Tosia glared right back at him, though she tightened her trembling fingers on John's arm. "I should be asking you the same thing," she said, her voice shaking, her fingers closing around the gun. "If you are a spirit, I will have to say that you are a most peculiar one."

Rodney scrunched his face in confusion. "A… a spirit? As in _ghost?_ W-why would you think—"

"This city has lain asleep for 10,000 years! We ensured that it would stay hidden!" the old woman snapped, looking warily back and forth at Rodney and Radek as though she doubted their very existences.

The two scientists exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"Umm, we have woken city," Radek said, "almost three years ago now."

"Radek! Shut up!" Rodney hissed.

"She is harmless old woman! What can she possibly—" Then Radek abruptly did shut up and raised his hands when the harmless old woman pulled out a gun and pointed it shakily at them.

"How is this possible?" she demanded. "You cannot be of the ancestors, so how did you know the city was here? How do you know John? Did you know him before his ascension? Before his banishment?"

Rodney blinked at her, exchanging another look with Radek. The other man just shrugged.

"What? What are you talking about?" Rodney spluttered, shaking his head. "What the hell makes you think that Sheppard ascended? Although… he's _had_ a couple of offers, mind you..." He pulled his hand over his mouth, tore through his hair, and tried to get his brain and mouth in proper synch.

"Okay… okay. Let's just… let's backtrack a moment here. So, four weeks ago – he disappeared." Rodney pointed in John's direction. "So in those four weeks… are you trying to tell me…_seriously_ tell me that _he_ somehow managed to…to _ascend? _Reach total enlightenment and turn into one of the happy floaty people and all that crap?" Rodney sneered and waggled his fingers in a fluttery gesture. "Ascended and then… uh… _de_-ascended, I suppose? In four weeks? Oh, and what else did you say?" He snapped his fingers in rapid succession. "Right… and banished, on top of it. Banished from _what? _From ascension land? Sent to his room without any supper, and that's how he suddenly and magically appeared just now? Of course, that doesn't explain _you,_ now does it?" Folding his arms over his chest, Rodney gave Tosia a look that was both scathing and smug. "You're either completely nuts, lady, or Sheppard has some _serious_ explaining to do, is all I can say."

Radek slanted his eyes at Rodney and whispered, "She has gun, Rodney."

"Yes, I noticed that," Rodney snapped and shifted nervously.

The old woman stayed close beside John who watched the exchange with wide-eyed confusion. "How… how many more people are here?" Tosia rasped. Her sallow complexion was almost waxen and her entire body trembled. She planted her feet a little wider to steady herself.

"A few," Rodney said, setting his jaw mulishly. "So… before you shoot me or Radek here, how about you tell us who you are? Just out of curiosity."

The old woman, blinked, taken aback by the man's effrontery, then shrugged. "Very well, since we have not been properly introduced, I am Tosia Elexus."

"Rodney McKay," Rodney said, giving her a short, somehow snide wave of his hand then pointed at his friend. "Radek Zelenka. And you know, I'd be a lot more pleased to meet you if you'd put the gun away."

"What is your business here?" Tosia demanded and only tightened her fingers around the weapon.

"We are both scientists," Radek answered, still holding up his hands.

"Well then," Tosia said, eyeing them both up and down, "we have something in common. I, too, was a scientist in this city."

Rodney's eyelids fluttered and he gaped at her. "In _this_ city? No offense, and while you're obviously no spring chicken, I have to say that you look more like… seventy-something, than ten thousand-something."

Tosia cackled and finally lowered the gun, wavering on her feet. "I should hope so… Ronny… no… Rodney? Yes, Rodney McKay…" she said, musing aloud, "John has mentioned your name a few times. You are his friend, yes?" She looked sharply from one man to the other. "Both of you?"

"Yes, we are," Rodney said firmly, and relieved, Radek nodded and dropped his hands to his sides.

As John watched and tried to follow the exchange, the man named Rodney became clearer and clearer in his mind, closer somehow, and all at once, John remembered him. Here, in this place. Speaking with him, working with him. Walking down this hallway with him. Yes, John knew him. Quite well, in fact. He didn't yet know how, and his mind couldn't wrap around why, but somehow, he knew he could trust this man.

"R…odney…?" he said softly, uncertainly.

Rodney's eyes darted to John at the sound of his raspy voice. John cautiously stepped closer to him, and then he remembered something else. He fumbled under his cloak to find his jacket pocket. Clasping something tenuously in his fingers, he held out his hand toward Rodney.

Rodney stared first at the bandages, soaking wet and pink with diluted bloodstains. John's hand trembled, fresh blood seeping around his fingers. Then Rodney realized that John was offering him something. A glyph. Held cupped in his upraised palm. Rodney frowned in confusion, then looked up at John's face. John watched him closely, staring into Rodney's blue eyes, willing him to understand.

When Rodney didn't take the glyph, John, in frustration, turned his hand and let it drop.

"God! Sheppard! Rodney cursed and quickly caught it. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"H-home?" John whispered, still watching him with that intense gaze.

"What?"

"He said, 'home,'" Radek helpfully supplied.

Rodney shot the other man an irritated glance, then looked back to John. "You _are_ home, buddy," he said gently, and John blinked and took a sharp breath. "It's okay. Everything's okay," Rodney reassured him. "You're home now, and we'll… we'll sort this all out."

John held his gaze a long moment, then nodded. "Home…" he echoed with a faint smile, shivering even though his face and eyes were hot and burning. He coughed a few times, wincing at the ache in his lungs.

Tosia leaned up against him, and all at once her knees were too soft too support her any longer. John caught her around her shoulders, eased her to the floor and down sat beside her, pressing his back on the corridor wall. The old woman slumped bonelessly against him, her long, tangled hair falling over her face.

"Oh, this is just great," Rodney muttered, then tapped the earpiece of his radio. "I need Beckett and a security team down here right now."

"Rodney, do realize what this means?" Radek said quietly, looking at the unconscious woman. "She could be an Ancient."

"Yes, yes, I realize," Rodney said, rolling his eyes, "an ancient Ancient, even."

"Unless, she is delusional," Radek mused, shrugging.

"Maybe, but somehow… I don't think so. Not when Sheppard's involved."

"This is true," Radek agreed, pursing his lips.

John's eyes followed Rodney's every move as he slowly crouched down and carefully uncurled Tosia's fingers from the gun. He handed it behind him to Radek, who took the weapon without a word. When Rodney took gentle hold of one of John's cold, bleeding hands and turned it over, John was too tired to offer any resistance.

Rodney winced at the sight of the filthy, seeping bandages, and John's torn, blood-encrusted fingernails. "What _is_ it with you and this whole ascension thing, anyway?"

John just watched him, shuddering with a cold that seemed to have turned the very marrow of his bones to ice. He closed his burning eyes, huddled in his damp cloak and his fingers unconsciously and trustingly closed over Rodney's.

* * *

--- tbc ---


	14. Chapter 14

Wow, so very glad you're all still with me at this point! Sholio – hadn't even thought of an alternate reality or time travel angle, but hmmm… that could have been veddy, veddy interesting, no? Titan5 – go for it with Silas! That dirty, rotten bully deserves a beating, big time. And a big thank you to each and every one of you for the fantastically positive reviews – totally jazzed that you're all enjoying this convoluted story so much.

Some spoilers in this chapter for season 1's 'Sanctuary' (no gagging, please – they're only brief mentions :-) ), and a bit of a language warning, too – Rodney tends to swear a lot when he's thinking… Also some scientific techno-babble coming right up, courtesy of Rodney and Tosia, which will hopefully answer a lot of your questions and clear up any muddy areas. That, or you'll end up as muddled as poor Shep, in which case, I will not be held liable. See what you think anyway, as we wind down to the home stretch:

* * *

"Well, I'm not certain where to start," Carson told Elizabeth and Rodney. "But first off, he's fightin' a nasty infection caused by those cuts on his hands, and he's runnin' a low-grade fever. Looks as though someone, the old girl, maybe, tried to take care of his hands for him, but they're still a bloody mess. It almost looks as though he tried to claw his way out of somethin'."

"God…" Elizabeth breathed out, and Rodney winced at the description.

"His lungs are also badly congested, and he's lost weight he most certainly didn't need to lose," Carson continued. "There's some deep bruising on his arms and shoulder, and he has a hell of a shiner, so I'm guessin' he was in a scuffle on top of it."

"And…" Rodney prompted. "Why's he acting so… weird?"

"That's the troubling part," Carson said, his brow furrowing. "He's exhibiting symptoms of catatonia and severe post-traumatic stress. His brain chemistry is all over the place, and there's evidence of a head trauma, but I can't be certain what's going on with him until I get some more information on what in the world happened to him in the first place."

"He still recognized me though," Rodney said. "Eventually, anyway…"

"Aye, that often happens in similar cases," Carson nodded. "He could be driftin' in and out of awareness for some time, or he could come out of it just like that. I've got him on a course of antibiotics for now, and to clear up the infection first, before we deal with the rest."

"All right." Elizabeth nodded, crossing her arms. "I know you'll do your best, Carson. What about the old woman?"

"She's still unconscious – completely worn out." Carson looked from Rodney to Elizabeth. "I had her DNA tested and she _does_ have the Ancient gene. It's… different somehow though… as though it's been manipulated."

"So, what are you saying?" Rodney waved a hand, urging him on. "She's a mutant, ancient Ancient now?"

"I don't know anythin' more than that, Rodney," Carson shrugged. "We'll have to talk to her when she's awake, but that won't be for some time yet."

"What about John?" Elizabeth asked. "Can we see him?"

"He should be getting settled just now," Carson said with a nod and steered them to a bed at the far back corner, curtained-off for privacy.

Pushing back the curtain and nodding to the nurse who stepped past her, Elizabeth blinked and took a sharp breath when she saw John. He sat in the middle of the narrow bed, his legs pulled up to his chest, the pristine sheets tangled under his feet, as though he'd kicked them away. His hands, resting on his upraised knees, were encased in layers of new bandages, two fingers on his right hand bound in splints. Dressed in white scrubs, John's visible skin was almost as pale as his clothing. In the midst of all that white, his hair was a dark shock falling over his forehead. Elizabeth frowned at the purplish, swollen bruise encircling his right eye. He looked too thin and astonishingly vulnerable as he slowly rocked himself.

"John?" she called softly, but he went on rocking and rocking, his bloodshot eyes terribly, frighteningly distant. She stood against the side of the bed with Rodney close beside her. When she placed her hand on John's shoulder, he flinched slightly but gave no other indication that he was even aware of her.

Carson moved to the opposite side of the bed. "Come, let's get you under the covers, lad." He pulled the sheets and blanket free of John's legs and bare feet. Straightening the blankets, he pulled them over John's curled legs and urged him to lie back by pressing lightly on his upper chest. John scowled and resisted him, hunching his upper body over his legs, tucking his hands to his chest.

"John, you need to lie back and get some rest now," Carson told him, stooping a little in an attempt to meet John's tired gaze. John muttered and snapped his head in the opposite direction. His eyes fell on Rodney and stayed there. He huddled into a tighter ball and shivered, gooseflesh visibly rising on his bare arms.

Rodney met John's suddenly focused gaze and shook his head in worry and exasperation. Without thinking, he pushed John's shoulder none too gently. "Sheppard, get under the damn covers before you freeze to death, you idiot."

"Idiot…" John echoed, and offered no resistance against the insistent grip on his shoulder. He flopped back onto the upraised pillows with a sigh.

Rodney yanked up the covers and let them flutter over his friend. Looking up again, he noticed Elizabeth and Carson gaping at him.

"What?"

Elizabeth almost laughed at Rodney's flummoxed expression. Carson smirked and leaned down to tuck the blanket closer around John's shoulders. John held his hands tucked under his chin and stared up at the ceiling, his eyelids drooping heavily with each blink.

"Will you let me know when the old woman wakes up, Carson?" Elizabeth said, and the doctor nodded in reply. "And take good care of him, all right?" she added, looking down at John's still form.

"Of course," Carson said and patted her arm. Expression troubled, Elizabeth pushed the curtain aside and ducked out of the infirmary.

"I… I'll just stay here a while," Rodney said, jerking a thumb at John. Without looking behind him, Rodney sat down in the plastic chair beside the bed, narrowly missing it altogether. He caught the chair before it scooted out from under him, cursing under his breath. "I… I think I'm catching his cold."

"No, you're not," Carson said, smiling at Rodney's discomfiture. "And since you don't mind keepin' an eye on him for a moment, I'll just check on a few things now, then." He stepped outside before the other man could say anything more.

Rodney leaned back in his chair, and let out a deep breath. He watched John's profile, and the slow, heavy rise and fall of his eyelids. Rodney tried to take in the fact that Sheppard was really here. Somehow, he was back, in body, if not in mind, anyhow.

"Are Teyla and Ronon ever in for a big surprise when they report for their post-mission checkup," Rodney muttered, more to himself than Sheppard. Rodney hadn't gone on this particular mission, pleading a pulled muscle in his back. In truth, he hadn't been on any missions since John's disappearance. The only place he'd been willing to go was back to the mainland. To that damned device.

Everyone had told him that Sheppard's disappearance hadn't been Rodney's fault, but who were they kidding? Of _course_ it had been his fault. As soon as the Athosian kids on the mainland had reported finding the thing, Rodney couldn't wait to get out there and check it out. And he was the one who had screwed around with that damned thing until it whirred to reluctant life, and something inside it had lit up, glowing with a baleful, blue-tinged eye.

_Of **course**, it's perfectly safe, buddy, pal… Let's just pry open this cover here. It looks like some sort of control panel._

He was the one who told Sheppard to stand under the damn thing and place his hand on the cover when Rodney couldn't budge it.

_Sheppard, will you just touch it, already – just for a second. _

Of course, like all things Ancient, the entire fucking thing had lit up like a Christmas tree for Sheppard. It had enveloped both John and himself in a swirling field of energy so intense it had set all the fillings in Rodney's teeth buzzing and every hair on his body standing on end.

_Shit! Get out of there! Sheppard, get out of there…_

The bed creaking under his weight, John turned onto his side, facing him. His exhausted gaze fixed on Rodney's once more, and Rodney could see the dark circles under John's eyes, visible even through the deep bruising. His face was too thin and despite the days' worth of stubble on his jaw, he looked oddly young.

_You just **had** to listen to me, had to trust me, didn't you, you dumb bastard._

Sometimes, late at night, when Rodney's thoughts were quiet, he could still hear Sheppard's agonized shrieking echo in his mind. He could still feel the terrible sensation of Sheppard's arm slowly dematerializing under his fingers as Rodney had grabbed onto him and tried to pull him free.

According to Teyla and Ronon, Rodney had only been immersed in that energy field for a few seconds, but he'd still caught a brief glimpse of what it contained. It had been too much though, so much information, so many terrifying sensations all at once that his mind had immediately recoiled.

Then the thing had spat him back out, his false gene not fooling it a bit. He had lost his grip on Sheppard, and stumbled backward into Ronon. Still trapped inside, Sheppard kept screaming on and on, or maybe it had just been echoing in Rodney's mind even then. In the next instant, his friend was gone, and the bright pool of energy along with him.

And no matter how many times they went back, no matter how many times Rodney tried, even resorting to getting Carson to stand in the same damned place with Ronon hanging onto him, ready to yank him back in the nick of time, nothing happened. The damned stubborn thing refused to do anything, and Sheppard was still gone.

For the first few days after losing him, Rodney had been unable to sleep without waking up screaming from nightmares, and the only thing he could recall of them was the sight of that swirling maw of energy.

No wonder John's mind had decided to say sayonara to the world, had enough, thank you very much, Rodney thought suddenly, his heart skipping a beat at the realization. "Jesus, Sheppard," he whispered.

Rodney stared at John's tired, bruised face. He grasped John's forearm and lightly squeezed it, suddenly needing to be reassured of his presence, his very tenuity. John's skin was cold, and his arm felt too thin, the bones too near the surface. John frowned at the contact, blinking tiredly, but Rodney saw that his eyes were unfocused again, gone.

If being stuck in that device had been like what Rodney had experienced, he wondered what the hell was even left of his John's mind. Rodney's split second experience had been hellish, agonizing, mind numbing. If it had been _anything_ like that for Sheppard, and he'd been trapped in there for a hell of a lot longer that Rodney had, what _could_ even be left…? And where in God's name had it sent him to?

He looked at John's bandaged hands, and then Rodney didn't want to know. For once, he didn't want ponder the possibilities, didn't want to speculate on where his closest friend had been for the past month. Sheppard was a mess of cuts and bruises, with his brain apparently turned to mush; all because he'd trusted his so-called friend enough to touch that fucking control panel, and how the hell could anyone tell Rodney that none of this was his fault?

Rodney stood so abruptly his chair wobbled and nearly toppled over. He shoved his way through the curtains, grabbed the first nurse he saw and ordered her to go see to Sheppard. He darted from the infirmary, not knowing where he was heading. He only knew he had to get out of there.

---A---

"Ach, _there_ ye are!"

Tosia stirred at the sound of the lilting voice, and her eyes snapped open. A stocky, brown-haired man in a white coat crouched beside the bed on which she lay, with his back turned to her.

"John, it's a wee bit cold and uncomfortable down there, don'cha think, lad?"

Tosia sat up a little, craning her neck to see John sitting huddled in his usual position on the floor, tucked in between her bed and a wheeled table. He did indeed look cold, his skin too pale, the soles of his bare feet almost blue-tinged.

"Perhaps you should give him a blanket," she said to the man beside her bed, surprised at the weak, fragile sound of her own voice.

He jumped to his feet and whirled in her direction. "Oh! You're awake!"

Tosia dropped her head back to the pillow and almost smiled at the man's startled expression. "Evidently so. And you are…?"

"Doctor Carson Beckett," he said, quickly regaining his composure. The corners of his blue eyes crinkled as he gave her a kind smile. "How are you feelin'?"

"Tired…" she admitted. Even still, Tosia tried to sit up straighter, tried to regain some semblance of her dignity, but she was far too exhausted to do much more than raise a shaky hand and attempt to smooth her hair. There were some wires connected to her skin, and her eyes followed their length to a small blinking and quietly beeping monitor.

"I can imagine you must be." Beckett's expression was sympathetic, and at once, Tosia decided that she liked him. He studied the monitor beside her for a moment, and then took hold of her wrist, taking her pulse, as though he preferred to feel its tempo for himself. "You've had quite a few busy days from the looks of it," he added.

"That I have," Tosia said with a faint smile at the understatement, "and John still needs that blanket, Doctor Beckett."

"That he does," the doctor agreed, and he gently laid down her hand. He pulled the spare, folded blanket from the foot of her bed. As he leaned down to wrap the blanket over John's shoulders, Tosia saw the doctor tap into a device by his ear, call a few names and ask them to report to the infirmary. Tosia readied herself to face whomever Beckett had called. For the questions she knew would come. Questions she wasn't certain she could answer.

"I'll just get John back to his bed now," the doctor told her, "and will be back with you in a moment."

"It is unlikely he'll agree to that," Tosia said, raising an eyebrow, already anticipating the upcoming struggle.

"Well, he's not gonna have a choice in the matter," Beckett said, his soft voice belying his strong statement. "The last thing he needs is pneumonia on top of everythin' else."

As Tosia expected, as soon as the doctor placed a hand on his shoulder, John pulled his legs up tighter and pressed his back against the wall. He surprised them both by firmly shaking his head, and quite clearly stating, "No. S-stay..."

Tosia smiled to herself at his determination and more so, found herself absurdly touched by his loyalty to her. Surrounded by strange faces in a city that should feel like home, but which instead, felt so different, so changed, she was grateful for John's presence. For one familiar face in a sea of strangers.

The doctor said something again to John that she didn't catch, and John shook his head more insistently. The incipient argument was interrupted by the arrival of Rodney McKay, and a slender woman with dark hair and large, piercing eyes. They both stared at her a moment, and at first didn't notice John on the floor until the doctor turned to greet them.

"Carson…?" the woman said, her brows raised questioningly at John.

He nodded and shrugged. "He's insisting on stayin' put."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Rodney said, his features pinched, his gaze flicking to John and then abruptly away again, as though he found it difficult to look at the other man.

Tosia wondered on that a moment. Rodney McKay claimed to be John's friend, so why the discomfiture? Taking advantage of their diverted attention from her, Tosia summoned the strength to sit up straight in her bed. She squared her shoulders and watched Rodney and the woman closely, trying to surmise their possible intentions.

With Rodney's help, the doctor managed to coax John to his feet. Carson began to lead him back to his own bed, but John, as usual, had other ideas. He abruptly pulled away from the doctor and clambered onto the empty bed a few feet away from Tosia's. He turned onto his side, rolling the blanket around him and closed his eyes. Carson threw his hands up in surrender, pulled another blanket over John's feet, and decided to let him be for the moment.

"Funny, you're not his usual type," Rodney smirked, turning to look at Tosia. "A little _old_ for him, perhaps?"

"Rodney…" the dark-haired woman warned, but Tosia couldn't help chuckling at the snide comment. She understood where the man's impropriety came from – fear, confusion, and something else, something that ran a little deeper. Something she couldn't quite pin down. At the same time, she already knew enough about Rodney McKay to surmise that he was not a man to bother with social niceties, something to which she could well relate.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the woman then said with a warm smile, purposefully situating herself in front of Rodney. "I'm Doctor Elizabeth Weir, and if you are who you say you are, then we're… most happy to meet you."

Tosia nodded to her in acknowledgment. "You are a physician, as well, Dr. Weir?"

"No," she smiled and shook her head. "A different kind of doctor. And please, call me Elizabeth. May I call you Tosia?"

The old woman nodded again. Perhaps with this one, they could get somewhere. Reach some sort of understanding. "It seems we have much to talk about, Elizabeth."

"Yes! Yes, we do," Rodney broke in, swinging his hands forward and clapping them together. "So? Tosia. Shall we continue where we left off?"

"And where was that again, Rodney?" Tosia said. "My memory is not what it used to be, so you will have to remind me."

"Oh, let's see… the whole ascension, de-ascension, 10,000 years old and Ancient, appearing out of the middle of nowhere thing," Rodney said, ticking off each item on his hand.

"Rodney, enough!" Elizabeth shot him another warning look and stepped closer to the bed, her gaze darting in John's direction a moment. "Tosia… we _do_ need to know how you and John got here, and if you have any information as to what's happened to him…"

"Yes," Tosia said, "I understand your concern." To these people, she and John must have appeared as though _they_ were the apparitions. "There is a cargo transporter in a lab in the lower levels of the city. It appears as though your people have not yet found it."

"Uh, the transporters only work _within_ the city," Rodney said. "So the question really is, how did you get _into_ the city?"

"There is one that goes further," Tosia said patiently. "To a small planet just outside the atmosphere of this planet."

"What?" Rodney sputtered. "That's impossible. The Ancients didn't have that kind of technology. And we haven't seen any planets that close. Only a few moons."

"Yes, there is a nearby planet, and yes, we _did_ have that kind of technology," Tosia corrected. "We were working on further developing and perfecting it, but our research was interrupted by the Wraith attacks on our city, and we had to evacuate."

"Tosia…" Elizabeth spoke up, watching her carefully. "This city was abandoned and hidden 10,000 years ago."

"Yes," Tosia said, nodding. "I am well aware of that fact."

"Then how…" Elizabeth said, frowning, shaking her head slightly. "We want to take you at your word, but—"

"The Atlanteans returned to Earth. You know of this, yes?" Tosia said. When the other woman nodded, she continued, "And, in time, many of us who had reached the stage of enlightenment chose to ascend. I was one of them."

"Hence the 10,000 years old thing?" Rodney said.

"Give or take a few decades, yes," Tosia smiled and chuckled again. At Rodney's disbelieving stare, she took a deep breath and tried to explain, tried to help them understand. "Once you achieve ascension, time becomes insignificant. A year is but one breath to the next. A century, but a few blinks of an eye. Time passes, civilizations come and go. Humanity's goings-on are of no consequence. A matter in which we had no part."

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth said.

"We merely observed, we watched and we listened. We let them be. We did not divert them from their paths."

"And yet here you are," Rodney said, "Looking remarkably human-like and fairly consequential."

"Yes. Here I am," Tosia said. "De-ascended, as you so aptly put it."

"By choice?" Rodney prompted, "or were you given a… a push?"

"There came a point when I began to question the logic of watching innocent people suffer and die for no reason," she said by way of reply. Her eyes were becoming heavy again, and she was already growing weary of explanations, but even still, she understood their skepticism. She would be surprised if they were not. Glancing over at John, she noticed that he was awake and watching her, perhaps even listening.

"The others do not take kindly to those of us who choose to interfere, but I did not care what they thought of me," she continued. "What good were enlightenment and such power, if they could not be put to good use? I could see no answer to that question, no answer that lent my existence any purpose, and so I began to help those people. Here and there, every once in a while. I am certain the others noticed, but they chose to turn a blind eye. Perhaps my actions were small, seemingly trivial things in the others' view. Not worthy of reprimand, but they certainly made much difference in those people's short existences." She paused a moment, allowing her words sink in. When they said nothing and only waited for her to continue, she glanced over to John again. Perhaps she could trust these people, _his_ people. Surely the city would not accept anything but those trustworthy, those with some traces of the ancestry, would it?

"There were more who felt the same way as I," she said after a moment, hoping these people's intentions were good and that her decision to trust them was the correct one. "We formed a small faction that resisted the others' stance—defying the very rule of our existence. We stepped in, we helped where we could, and I suppose, it didn't take long until we became overly confident, too cocky for our own good. We drastically altered the course of two civilizations' histories, and I suppose the others felt that they had no choice but to put an end to such meddling and disobedience."

"We met another… such as yourself," Elizabeth said cautiously. "On a planet called Proculus."

"Chaya," Tosia said, nodding again.

Rodney stared at her. "You _know_ her?"

"I know _of_ her, yes," Tosia said. "We all knew of one another. There are others like her, who are bound to one place as reprimand, but still retain their ascended state. There are some who, instead, choose to return to human form, rather than live out an eternity doomed to one place. And then there are those who are given no choice. Who are forced by the others to their previous human forms, stripped of their ability to use Ancient technology, and reverted to the same physical age as when they chose to ascend. I am of the latter. As were the five others who were punished in the same manner as myself." Tosia closed her heavy eyes a moment. When she opened them again, the doctor, Elizabeth and Beckett were staring at her with a mixture of astonishment and wonder. On Rodney's face, she wasn't surprised to see skepticism.

"That doesn't explain how Sheppard fits into all this," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, it does not," Tosia agreed. "When did you last see him before he went missing?"

"Four weeks ago. On the mainland," Rodney said in a short, clipped tone. "We found some sort of Ancient energy or… or transportation device built into a hillside that... sucked him into it."

"There is a portal on the mainland in such a place as you described..." Tosia mused, frowning, "along with a few other portals on certain planets in this galaxy. The portals have been used as transportation devices, but their main purpose is to serve as receptacles of Ancient history and technological information. They also collect imprints of the memories of the Ascended beings that are forced through them before they are reverted to their human forms. The portals record all that each Ascended one has ever witnessed, experienced, learned, felt… _everything._" Tosia said, shuddering at a distant memory, one she had thought she'd long forgotten. "I would imagine that the amount of information stored in just one portal alone would be staggering."

"Who built them?" asked Elizabeth fascinated. "The Ancients? The Ascended?"

Tosia shook her head. "I am not certain. There are Ascended beings who are so old that they no longer recall what it ever meant to be human, to have corporeal form. Perhaps they never did. Perhaps, they were the ones who build them – as far as I know, the portals have always been there."

"And you were sent through such a portal?" Elizabeth said. "What happened to you afterward?"

"I was sent through the very one on the mainland. It happened quite quickly, and I do not recall much," Tosia said in a soft voice, unwilling to articulate the distant, but terrifying memory of being seized, trapped and propelled with incredible force beyond her control. She recalled feeling as though parts of her were being stripped away, layer by layer, and then the momentary pain of veritable, physical rebirth. "When it was done, I found myself on the planet I mentioned, just outside Atlantis's atmosphere and back in my previous human form. That is where the five others were sent, as well. Where we were sent to die, and where I have lived for the past forty-six years. I had assumed that John had suffered and been sentenced to the same fate when I found him, but now…"

She looked at Rodney who had become strangely silent. His features had blanched and slackened with either shock or realization, and he looked at her, wide-eyed.

"Uh… yeah... I think we umm… _found_ that portal on the mainland," he said in a tight voice. "I opened up some sort of control panel, and I… we activated it somehow—"

"But that is not possible," Tosia broke in, shaking her head. "Only the Ancients and those Ascended can control such technology. And you are not directly of the Ancestors…?"

Rodney scrunched his face in discomfort. "No… no, we're not… But, I _do_ happen to be a genius here – never met a piece of technology that I couldn't figure out in some way, shape or form. And Sheppard and Ancient technology…" Rodney, without turning, waved a hand in John's direction, "he's like a super-charge battery for it. The force, or something."

"John has the Ancient gene," Elizabeth explained at Tosia's puzzled expression. "And so does Carson and few others here, but John's is the strongest, and he's the only one who is able to effortlessly control the technology in this city."

"You people came from Earth, yes?" Tosia questioned, her thoughts racing. "You must have – that is the only way you could have possibly know how to even find the city."

Elizabeth nodded even as Rodney cast a warning glance at her.

"Then you _are_ of the ancestry. John, perhaps, more than others." Tosia nodded. She was starting to understand how all this had come to be.

"You said those portals record your memories," Rodney said. "10,000 something years worth of your own memories, for starters. How many… _bad_ Ascendeds were forced through that particular portal?"

Tosia blinked at him. "I am not certain. Not every Ascended being reverted to human form is sent through such a portal. Not all of them, I suppose, have witnessed enough to deem their experiences worthy of saving for posterity. But I do know for certain that the six of us were, in fact, sent through that one."

Rodney paled, and pulled a hand over his face. "And where exactly did you find Sheppard?"

"In the nearly same place that I ended up, along with the other five – approximately four weeks ago," Tosia said, looking at Rodney sharply. "He was unconscious, bleeding from his nose and his ears, and I could not understand why he was so injured, or why his mind was so damaged. I felt very little of my own passage… only confusion and discomfort at suddenly being rendered back to flesh and blood—"

"Look – Tosia, Sheppard _never_ ascended," Rodney interrupted, shaking his head. "Four weeks ago, he was pulled into that thing, _full_ flesh and blood and _very_ human. I think, since it couldn't… uh…" he fluttered his hand, trying to find the words he was looking for. "Since it likely couldn't mind suck him, being inconveniently corporeal and all, it must have either malfunctioned, or because it recognized his Ancient gene, decided to dump all that information into his brain before sending him to this planet of yours."

Elizabeth gasped and stared at him. "Rodney… are you sure?"

He shook his head. "No… not sure. But it's probably a pretty good guess. I was _in_ that thing, Elizabeth."

Tosia's eyes widened at that. "But it was never meant for anyone in a human state to pass through... It is not possible…"

"Well, he's evidence to the contrary, isn't he?" Rodney said, and he looked ill. Heartsick, Tosia realized.

Tosia nodded, her mind racing. "I suppose the portal simply sent John to the same place the last banished one was sent... Gaereth must have been the last… before John…"

"Well, that explains a lot," Carson said in a slightly wavering voice, speaking for the first time since Tosia started. He looked over at John, and Tosia could see a hint of fear for his patient on the doctor's face. "What in the devil happened to his hands, then?" he said after a moment.

"Well, as Rodney said," Tosia said quietly, "John does seem to be a 'magnet' for Ancient technology."

At their confused expressions, Tosia told them of the hidden, underground lab, the one that was meant to be destroyed by the Wraith fail-safes she had so long ago failed to properly set. And as she spoke, she glanced around her surroundings. She noticed other physicians, nurses and technicians bustling about. As she told the three how she realized that the others had stolen from her the ability to use the very technology she was party to creating, she looked out to the hallway, and watched those passing by. There were men dressed as soldiers, in similar attire to what John had been wearing when she'd found him. When she spoke of how John had found her lab, as though it had called out to him, and how he determined he had been to uncover it, she noticed a woman pushing carts full of supplies, and then a man, pushing another laden with trays of food.

Elizabeth, in turn, told her that they were explorers, looking for allies. That they were still learning the city's capabilities, and that they would welcome any information she had to offer, and Tosia began to see the possibilities of such an alliance. She began to feel some hope.

John, seemingly oblivious to the conversation focusing on and around him, sat up on the bed and craned his neck to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone but Tosia blinked, startled, when the lights directly above them winked off and then on again in rapid succession.

"What the…" Carson breathed out, his gaze flying to the still lit heart monitor by Tosia's bed, worrying about power outages.

"Hey!" Rodney protested at the same time, and he noticed John still watching the lights. "Is he doing that?" Rodney asked everyone and no one, and then turned to his friend. "Sheppard, knock it off!"

John tilted his head to frown at Rodney a moment. Then looking up at the ceiling again, John grinned, and his face transformed into boyish mischief. The lights flicked one more time, then remained on, but the one directly above his bed stayed dimmed. He began rocking, his lips pressed tight together as though he were humming again, though Tosia was too far away to hear it.

"Okay, that was just weird…" Rodney said, his voice pitching up an octave, mouth turned down at one corner.

Tosia paid Rodney no mind and continued watching John. She fully understood his true purpose now. Atlantis was here, reborn, evidently thriving, and so very close… The fates, she realized, had been very clear in why they had chosen for John Sheppard's path to cross with hers. Tosia only wished that John's purpose, her people's very salvation, hadn't come at such a high cost for him.

* * *

--- tbc ---


	15. Chapter 15

(hands Titan5 a roll of string, turns a blind eye) And wow! You guys are making me blush! Thanks so much! I'm not gonna be able to fit my head through the door… And yep, I absolutely _promise_ to 'fix' John (no, not THAT way! horrors!), but not just yet… The chapter that follows this one is still in the futzing stages, but I do hope to post it within the next day or so.

* * *

Rodney copied more data into his own personal directory. He let that program run in the background and began to read a file that particularly held his interest. His thoughts raced, and now and again, he tapped out a few commands, isolating a tasty piece of information, or cross-referencing his own research for comparison.

_Oh yeah, _he thought, grinning happily to himself, _this was a mother lode of all things Ancient._

Rodney had to admit it, at first, he'd found it easier to dismiss the old woman as either senile, or one hell of a good liar. Tosia had then shown Carson how to access hidden and encrypted medical databases that nearly sent the man into paroxysms of excitement, and Rodney had to privately concede that she knew far more about the workings of the city than anyone else they'd encountered, thus far. Even still, Rodney had clung to his natural and healthy scepticism for a few more days. That was, until Tosia had shown him this veritable treasure-trove of information. Only then did he willingly admit to her indisputable knowledge and dive headlong into the wonders of all things Ancient. After all, he'd always been man enough to admit when he was wrong.

And as he started reading of the old woman's own theories and experiments, Rodney thought that maybe he was in love. Tosia was smart as hell, and the digital image he had found in her personal file revealed her to have had been, well… _hot_. In that cool, regal blonde way that Rodney was always a sucker for. If Tosia were forty years younger, he'd probably propose… Come to think of it, maybe if he proposed to her _now_, she'd show him some more databases like this one...

Although, from what Carson had told him, she seemed to have eyes only for Sheppard. Over the past three days, she constantly looked in on him, sometimes sitting beside his bed, sometimes wandering the corridors with him when he became restless. Somehow, Sheppard seemed to have wrapped her around his catatonic little finger. Ascended, hell, even _demoted_ ascended women definitely had a thing for the guy, something of which Rodney couldn't for the life of him understand.

_Hell of a lot of good that'll do the poor bastard now,_ Rodney thought. He paused, his fingers poised in mid-flight, staring sightlessly at the screen a moment. The deep, meditative calm that his work always lent him fled in a sudden rush, and he completely lost his train of thought.

He was still poised, motionless over the keys when someone stepped close beside him and laid a hand on his arm. Startled, he looked blankly up at Teyla and had to quash a surge of irritation. Firmly immersed in his work, he hadn't spoken much with Teyla or Ronon over the past few days – it was just easier that way, and it was also the way he fully intended for things to remain.

"Rodney," she said, "Tosia would like you to bring her back to the infirmary now."

He looked over his shoulder to the short walkway leading from Elizabeth's office, where Ronon was pushing the wheelchair in which Tosia had very reluctantly agreed to sit. The old woman looked tired and unwell, but still, when they came nearer and she saw Rodney, she smiled expectantly at him.

"Hey. Tosia. Long time no see and all that," Rodney said, trying very hard to sound grumpy about it, but in truth, he couldn't wait to pick her brain on a bazillion different theories. "When did I get demoted to geriatric valet service, anyway?"

Teyla tilted her head and frowned in that disapproving way of hers, though Rodney highly doubted that she even knew what a valet service was.

Tosia just chuckled and invitingly patted the arm of her chair. "Come now, Rodney," she said, "There is much that an experienced woman can teach a young fellow such as yourself." She gave him a far from angelic smile, and Ronon snorted with laughter.

To his dismay, Rodney could feel his face and even his ears burning. He stood up too quickly and his chair zoomed back against the desk with a clatter.

"Go on, McKay," Ronon encouraged, stepping back, and waving his arm at the chair with flourish. "Educate yourself."

Rodney narrowed his eyes at the Satedan. "Shut up," he groused, then froze; remembering that Ronon could beat the crap out of him blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back. No that he _would_, but still… better not to test that theory at any rate. Um... we'll just… go now," he muttered.

Ducking his head, looking everywhere but at Ronon, Rodney quickly took hold of the chair's handles, turned and wheeled Tosia toward the doors to the main corridor. He ignored Teyla's barely stifled giggle and Ronon's deep chuckle for the bit of childish immaturity that it was, shaking his head in interminable disbelief at what he had to put up with on a daily basis.

---A---

On their way back to the infirmary, Tosia found herself lost in thought, worried for her people and what she intended to bring down upon them.

"So your last project was an experiment in terra-forming?" Rodney said in a blatant attempt to get her sharing further information. The man possessed a seemingly infinite curiosity. A trait which, even in these difficult circumstances, she welcomed and the very reason she had requested him to be the one to bring her back to the infirmary. In her old life in this city, his intellect would have been an invaluable commodity.

"Yes," she replied after a moment with a tired nod. "In both terra-forming and human development."

"You had a whole whack of unpopulated, habitable planets to play with, so why create one?"

"Why create anything, Rodney?" she asked, tilting her head to look back at him. "It was a controlled experiment. We observed a planet's evolution from a moon to an atmosphere that was able to sustain life. Once we were certain the atmosphere was stable enough for wildlife and humans, we transplanted a small group of people. We provided them with rudimentary tools. We built a small lab and observatory beneath their village and from there, we watched their development. Over the course of a few years, we had planned to gradually introduce technology to them and observe how they incorporated it into their society, but as you know, our experiment was interrupted."

"And so you just left them there? When you abandoned the city?"

Tosia nodded again. "I am ashamed to admit that I forgot about them, and then dismissed them as casualties of the Wraith," she said quietly. The very reason the Ascendeds had chosen that place as punishment for her and those had that chosen to follow her, but she had no intention of sharing that particular information.

"In your file, there's a map that shows the location of the planet, yet it doesn't show up on any of our sensors."

"I have spent a long time on that planet. I assure you, Rodney, it is still there," Tosia said, smiling to herself. Yes, this man was not going to take anything at face value, and she admired him enormously for it. "It is merely hidden, like this city was hidden. I am hopeful that the cargo transporter in my lab in this city still works both ways. Tomorrow, perhaps we could test it, if you care to see it for yourself."

And as she spoke, something in her chest tightened. It was though she were betraying her people. Forcing them, without warning, to face the outside world. Finally revealing to them the truth from which they had been so carefully protected. Their origins, the reason for their sheltered, meaningless existences. What would it do to them?

Even still, she was willing to face their scorn, their eventual fear and possible rejection of her, if that truth were to ultimately save them. Pushing back her own shameful trepidation, Tosia took a deep breath. No, it was too late to turn back – the new Atlanteans' leader, Elizabeth, had already agreed to help Tosia's people in whichever way they could. And who was Tosia to even wish to deny the fates? The immutable path that led her to these people? No, she had to continue to trust them. There was no choice in the matter.

"If it does not work, I also believe that you would be well up to the task of finding a way through the shield and to the planet by ship," she continued after a moment. She ensured to keep her voice firm so that this very observant man would not detect any of her maudlin and selfish fears. "I only ask that you use discretion when it comes time to approach my people," she couldn't help adding, "they are unaccustomed to strangers and even more unaccustomed to technology anywhere near advanced as this."

"Yes, yes, of course," Rodney said in a distracted manner, which Tosia recognized as his mind being far ahead of her already. "A cloaked jumper might be able to pass undetected through the shield, since the Ascendeds probably weren't too worried about any Ancients messing with the planet. Maybe it's only a shield against Wraith technology," Rodney mused, "or if the planet is merely cloaked and invisible to sensors, unless you know where to look..."

"A jumper?" Tosia frowned at the term, at the same time, processing all that the man was saying.

"Oh, right... a jumper is a gate ship, the ships in the bay," Rodney explained. "Sheppard decided to name them 'puddle jumpers' – some fly-boy term, or other, and the stupid name kind of stuck."

Tosia smiled. "I like that. Jumpers."

Rodney smirked. "Yeah, why doesn't that surprise me..." Then he looked down at her, remembering that he had a full-blooded, willing Ancient in his grasp. "Wait, what did _you_ call them?"

Tosia had to think for a moment, then it came to her. "Gateships."

"Hah! I _knew_ it!" Rodney crowed, grinning widely. "Wait till Sheppard finds out. He's gonna be so pissed—" He broke off at the realization that the John Sheppard he was speaking of was not the same man in the infirmary.

Tosia only nodded. It was a difficult subject. John's condition.

"I guess… all this must be a little… weird, huh?" Rodney said in what Tosia recognized as a diversion into safer territory. "Being back here?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, Rodney, it is very… weird," she agreed, and there was another understatement of the grandest proportions. In truth, this felt more like a dream than any reality. All this had been so long ago. Countless lifetimes ago. Tosia feared that if she thought too much, if she analyzed the implications in too great a detail, she would go mad.

When they neared the east pier, a sudden flash of memory so vivid and so captivating made her heart stutter and her breath catch in her lungs. She flung out an arm. "Stop!"

Rodney skidded to such an abrupt halt that she nearly pitched headfirst from her chair. "What! What is it?!" he yelped, quickly catching hold of her shoulder, steadying her as she grabbed hold of the hand rests of the chair.

Tosia ignored him, and summoning all her strength, she gripped tight the hand rests and placed her feet on the floor. She pushed herself up and shakily stood.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Rodney stared wide-eyed at her. "Are you having a heart attack, or a stroke or something, because if you are, I'd _really_ wish you'd wait until we get to the infirmary—"

"I am going outside," Tosia said, scarcely hearing his confusion, all her attention fixed on the expanse of water and the large balcony revealed through the windows and ornate double doors. She shuffled toward the doorway, heading for the balcony that overlooked the pier and the sea. She had never expected to see this again.

"Oh, for…" Rodney rolled his eyes, and rushed over to take her arm when she wobbled alarmingly. "At least let me wheel you out there."

Tosia shook her head in stubborn refusal. "I am quite capable of walking," she said, already short of breath, "slowly, mind you."

And she fully intended to make it onto that balcony on her own power. Slowly, limping, or crawling, whichever way it had to be.

She allowed Rodney to open the door for her, and then tucked her arm in his elbow, so that he appeared more of an escort than a crutch. They made their way to the railing, and Tosia let go of Rodney's arm to grip the handrail. The metal was cold, strong and felt right under her fingers. How many times had she grasped this very rail, stood in this very place? Far too many for her to count.

The wind caught at her braided hair, and the loose strands whipped around her face. She remembered standing out here with her father, and then later, with her close friends and suitors. Many a time, she had gazed over this water, watching the sunrises and sunsets. Watching the passage of time in pastel oranges, pinks and yellows. Planning, always planning. Tosia had many different suitors back then; young men she been fond of but never took seriously. None of them had captivated her the way Gaereth had. Almost from the very first moment she laid eyes on him back on the planet, Gaereth had captured her heart and soul. How she wished he could see this. She had tried to describe it to him once, but telling was never the same as witnessing for yourself.

Shivering, Tosia wrapped her arms tight around herself. Then something was draped over her shoulders, and she glanced at Rodney, surprised. He stood there shivering in his shirtsleeves, and she pulled his jacket, warm from his body heat, tighter around her. So beneath the acerbic front, there lay a chivalrous nature – she had suspected as much.

"Thank you, Rodney," she said, giving him a grateful smile. She looked back to the steel colored, choppy water and listened to the rush of the waves. So this is what it had sounded like as the waves slapped against the walls of the city. She'd almost forgotten that sound and how it used to lull her to sleep at night. She had missed this… She hadn't realized just how much. The shameful, sentimental tears filled her eyes once more.

"This was always my favorite view," she said softly when Rodney came to stand close beside her, his own gaze drifting over the water. "I still dream of it sometimes. It is exactly as I remember it."

Rodney hunched over a little, hugging his arms to his chest. "Yeah, Sheppard likes this one, too."

Without looking at him, Tosia said, "You have not been to see him, I have noticed. Not since that first day."

Rodney winced and kept his eyes fixed on the water. "Yeah, well… it may not look like it, but I do have a rather busy job here."

"Yes, you do," Tosia agreed. "You are a very intelligent man, by your own admission and from what Elizabeth tells me. Although, perhaps not so smart in other ways, hmm." This came out as a statement rather than a question, and Rodney turned to scowl at her, as Tosia expected. _Yes,_ she thought, _here is something more..._

"Okay, it's bad enough standing out here freezing my ass off while you take your 10,000-year trip down memory lane, but you don't need to insult me on top of it."

Unperturbed, Tosia fixed him with an appraising stare. "John is your friend, is he not?"

"Yes, _of course,_ he's my friend," Rodney said, "_was_ my friend…" He let his voice trail off, and Tosia heard him curse under his breath at the unwitting admission.

"And now you turn your back on him because he is no longer… whole?" Tosia questioned, struggling to understand. "Because he is damaged?"

"Look, are you done?" Rodney snapped, "because I'm going back in."

"He has asked for you a few times," she said, unwavering under the baleful glare that did nothing to hide the underlying sadness in his eyes.

"Right. Maybe he did, but at the same time, he probably wouldn't notice if a Wraith hiveship decided to drop in for a visit, so I _highly_ doubt that he's missing me any. Going inside now," he said tightly and turned halfway toward the door. "You coming?"

Tosia shook her head and cursed men for their stubbornness. She allowed herself one more glimpse of the sea, quieted her thoughts to hear only the waves, and after a long moment, she turned to follow Rodney. His deeply ingrained chivalry hadn't allowed him to stray very far though, only a few steps away. But when he reached for her arm, this time, she did not allow him to help her.

They made their way to the infirmary in silence. Tosia was so exhausted that she couldn't stop her head from nodding. Pain seared her side, and she tightly gripped the hand rests on her chair. She longed for the pain medication that Doctor Beckett would soon give her.

Rodney carefully wheeled her to the bed she'd been assigned, and one of the nurses, seeing them from across the room, came over to help Tosia back into bed. Before she was even settled in, without a word, Rodney turned away and strode from the infirmary.

Leaning back on the pillows, Tosia closed her eyes against the sharp pain, against the sudden loneliness that stung far worse. She wondered how Lasca and Antal were faring. She wished they were here with her now.

* * *

--- tbc ---


	16. Chapter 16

Sorry for the slight delay, but I'm back! Titan5 – I think you left the nasty, giant thorn-ridden stick behind that good for throwing rock over there. And thanks again to all of you for the wonderfully enthusiastic reviews, and I'll try, try not to let it all go to my head so that I can actually finish this story. ;)

And just so no one yells at me, I love Tom Waits, the Violent Femmes _and_ Abba with equal fervor, but Rodney and John seem to have differing opinions on the matter. And… here we go:

* * *

Rodney looked at Tosia, waiting for a reaction, for disbelief, tears, anger. Anything. But she just sat there on a hard, metal chair by the desk in her old lab in the city, her back rigid, scarred face blank and expressionless as she stared at the cargo transporter. The now useless transporter.

Not surprisingly, at least to one as intrinsically cynical as Rodney, their potential exploration was over almost as soon as it had started.

Rodney and Tosia, along with Radek, Ronon and Teyla, had made their way to the lab first thing in the morning and less than an hour ago. Tosia had insisted on walking the entire way from the infirmary to the sub-basement levels of the city, not giving any direction, only expecting them to follow her. Which they did. As forthcoming as she'd been about the city's technology, Tosia had been conspicuously vague as to where exactly this so-called lab of hers was.

"I guess this experiment of yours wasn't very high on the Atlantean priority list, huh?" Rodney had smirked as they took the transporter elevator down, down and down, seemingly into the very bowels of the city. "Kinda the equivalent of an office with no window?"

Tosia had chosen to ignore the questioning jibe, but Teyla shot him another one of her patented glares. Ronon kept worriedly eyeing the old woman as though he expected her to faint at any moment, and Radek had tucked himself in the corner and stared up at the ceiling, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

When they came to the dim corridor, they had to avoid small puddles still drying in places. Tosia led them to a doorway that was almost at the end of the long hallway and then told Rodney the combination that would open the locked door. And as they stepped inside the cluttered, waterlogged room, Rodney didn't take much time to look at the equipment – that he'd do later when he could give it his full attention – instead, he and Radek had immediately checked out the cargo transporter.

On Tosia's instruction that the transporter doors would immediately open on the other side when an object was sent through it, Rodney placed a running video camera on the floor of the device and activated it. A few seconds later, he pressed the control panel to bring it back. The doors opened and Rodney jumped aside as a small avalanche of dirt and debris poured out of the transporter, onto the still damp floor and around his feet. Cursing under his breath, Rodney had to dig through the dirt that remained inside to find his camera.

Blowing dirt and dust from the lens, Rodney set the camera to play back the short transmission – halfway expecting it not to work, but it did. First there was only static, and then there was a dark blur that Rodney, after a moment, recognized as a large boulder resting heavily on the jutting end of a collapsed pillar. Both lay directly outside the transporter's open doors, blocking it off. Dirt and debris poured in and around the chamber, and the screen went dark, but they could still hear the rushing sound of dirt raining down.

Without looking at the others, Rodney tried the transporter again. The doors slid shut, the machine groaned, the power winked off and on, then shut down. All they had to show for their efforts was a pile of alien dirt.

"Well... so much for that," Rodney said, frustrated.

"I am sorry, Tosia," Teyla said, placing her small hand on the old woman's shoulder. At the light, gentle touch, Tosia blinked and startled, as though broken from a trance. When Teyla softly asked if she were all right, Tosia visibly forced herself to relax her posture, nodded and gave Teyla a shaky smile.

"The vibrations when John and I went through must have brought the rest of it down," Tosia said, and ran a trembling hand through her hair. "And now…that was the final straw. It is all gone, buried as it was meant to be. Lasca and Antal must think that…" She shook her head, raised her hand to her mouth, silencing what she had been about to say.

"At least you and John were able to arrive here safely," Teyla said, and the platitude made Rodney roll his eyes.

"Oh, come on," he said, crossing his arms, "it's not like she's stuck here forever. Not yet anyway."

"We could try reaching the planet by jumper," Radek said, shrugging.

"Yes, we _could,_" Rodney said, flashing the other man a false, grating smile. "What ever would I do without your brilliant flashes of genius, Radek? I wish _I'd_ thought of that!"

Radek crossed his arms and glared up at Rodney from under his glasses. "It is called making conversation, Rodney. Perhaps you should try it sometime, yes?"

"What for?" Rodney scowled at the other man, perplexed.

"Oh, yes. I forget - you have no use for 'underlings and meaningless chatter,'" Radek said, quoting what Rodney had snarled at him a little over a week ago.

Rodney was about to fully agree with his own statement, when he noticed Tosia looking back and forth at the two of them. And as she watched them, Rodney saw something steel in her, a ray of hope filling her clouded eyes.

"Yes, there _are_ the gateships," she said in a firm voice, halting the impending argument in its tracks. "If we are to properly help my people, we will need to use one anyhow. I suggest that we make haste and get to work right away."

Rodney stared at her a moment, unaccustomed to being ordered around – by little old ladies, yet. "Give me… an hour," he said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'll figure it out." But before that, maybe he could check out some of the boxes piled on the shelves and maybe, carefully, analyze whatever was left in some of the few bottles that were still miraculously intact. He wandered over to the shelf and resisted the urge to start rifling through a box filled with what looked like dismantled Ancient machinery.

Tosia raised an eyebrow, her fierce gaze following him. "I am certain you can figure it out, Rodney, but do you not think it will go much faster if I showed you where to look for the planet? The exact coordinates have been documented in my files."

"Oh…" Rodney breathed out, chastened for the moment. "Well... I… I figured as much, from the map I found, but I haven't read that far yet."

"In that case, perhaps we should go look at it now," Tosia said, her tone leaving no room for dispute. A rush of sudden urgency to return to her family and her people gave her additional strength as she pulled herself to her feet. Without a word, she tottered toward the door, then paused, surprised, when it opened for her – Rodney had surreptitiously disabled the combination at the same he'd opened it.

"I take it we're leaving now, huh?" he called after Tosia as she disappeared into the corridor. Moving to follow the old woman, Teyla shot him another scathing look over her shoulder. "Oh, will you stop that already!" Rodney groused, tearing a hand through his hair and shaking his head. Teyla ignored him and strode outside the room after Tosia.

Ronon who had been so silent and still that Rodney had almost forgotten he was even in the room, looked at him and shrugged. "Women," he said, as if that explained everything.

Actually, it did, Rodney realized. "Yeah," he said. "_Alien_ women. Which are far, far worse."

Radek muttered something in Czech, nodding as though in full agreement with them. With that, the three followed the incomprehensible women into the corridor.

---A---

It didn't take long to go over Tosia's file and map out the coordinates to the planet, which Rodney would later transfer to a jumper. Despite their irritation with one another, Rodney was surprised how well he and the old woman worked together. And despite her age, Tosia was still sharp as a tack and as prickly as one too. Rodney had to admit to grudging respect over that.

Once they were done, Tosia asked him to help her back to her bed in the infirmary, pleading the need for a rest. Rodney threw down his scribbled notes and rolled his eyes. Never mind that Teyla specialized in looking after little old ladies, that Radek was dying to brainstorm with the old woman over the inexplicable fluctuations in their backup generators, or that Ronon could carry her draped over his finger. No, Tosia just _had_ to have Rodney, and Rodney alone, to bring her back. He grumbled token protests that he knew would do nothing to dissuade her, and grudgingly agreeing, he heaved himself to his feet with a beleaguered sigh.

As they walked, she took his arm, leaning heavily against him, and Rodney could feel her trembling with exhaustion. He slowed his steps and moved a little closer to her, in case she stumbled.

"Thank you for your help today, Rodney. I am very grateful to you – to all of you for being so willing to help my people," she said.

"Yeah, well... we sort of owe you one... I suppose."

She tightened her grip on his arm and paused a moment. Rodney looked at her, worried, when her already waxen features paled even further. She waved off his concern and slowly began walking again.

"Yesterday... I said some things that upset you," she said a little breathlessly and without looking at him, "and for that I apologize."

Rodney blinked, caught off-guard. "Upset? Me? I hardly even remember what we talked about," he scoffed. In truth, he recalled every single painful and condemning word of that conversation.

"It must be very difficult to see John in such a state," she continued, undeterred. "Back there, in the ruins... he kept digging and digging in the cold, hard ground, even when his poor hands were torn to shreds... He was so determined to find his way home," she said, admiration and concern for Sheppard ringing loud and clear in her voice. "But he is still lost, Rodney. He needs those who care about him to help him find his way back."

"We _are_ looking after him," Rodney said curtly, understanding at once the reason Tosia had wanted to get him alone. But he didn't want to get into this again. He didn't want to think about Sheppard practically maiming himself to get home. He didn't want to think about Sheppard at all. They'd been through this already, and Rodney had no intention of going another round.

"Your lives are so very short," Tosia said softly, "I do not think you realize just how quickly it is all over. It is much too short a time to be filled with regrets and remorse that weigh heavily on the conscience."

Rodney glanced at her, renewed irritation surging within him. "My conscience is doing just fine, thanks, Jiminy," he quickly said, but he didn't sound very convincing to his own ears. Tosia stared up at him with a look that saw straight through him, and Rodney turned his head slightly, away from her scrutiny. "So, tomorrow... we'll take a trial run to the planet," he said as casually as possible. "If all goes well, we should have you back home in no time."

"Yes, I look forward to that," Tosia said, the topic thankfully diverted. "My daughter and grandson... they must be so terribly worried."

By that time, they had reached the infirmary, for which Rodney was even more grateful. Tosia released his arm, and then surprised him once more by reaching for his hand. He didn't resist when she clasped his strong hand in her small, trembling one, holding it tight.

"What happened to John was not your fault," she said in a soft, but firm voice. "I am certain that he does not blame you, so stop blaming yourself, Rodney."

Tosia released his hand and for once, Rodney found himself at a complete loss for words. Even if he could think of something to say, he didn't think he'd be able to speak around the tight lump in his throat. As Tosia made her way to her bed on her own, Rodney watched her a moment, then turned to look at the far back corner where Sheppard's own bed lay.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to look in on him, he thought. Just for a second, just so that everyone, namely Tosia, would get off his back. Rodney took two steps in that direction and then remembered that he'd forgotten all about checking in with his staff that morning. As he turned away, a mingling of guilt and fury at his own cowardice seized hold of him and wouldn't let go. It wasn't quite strong enough to stop him though, and he continued without pause for the infirmary doors.

And then he nearly ran smack into the very person he'd been trying so hard to avoid. Walking on the toes of his shoes, John wandered right past Rodney without registering his presence. He reached the gurney nearest the door and then, turning in an oddly graceful about face, came back five steps. Only to turn and repeat the motion again, and again.

Wide-eyed, his stomach clenching, Rodney froze in place, helplessly watching his friend, or at least what was left of him. Dressed in a heavy black sweater, a pair of gray sweatpants and running shoes, Sheppard at least appeared a little less like an extra from 'One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest.' He looked almost… normal, even. That was, until you looked into his vague eyes, or noticed the lack of animation in his face, or allowed yourself to acknowledge the manic pacing.

Somehow, John must have felt the weight of his appalled stare because he slowed his steps and looked up at Rodney, his brow creasing, as though he were puzzling over who he was.

Rodney ducked his head, turned away from John's quizzical appraisal and shoved his way through the infirmary doors, looking neither left, nor right. He had too much work to do and had absolutely no time for this. He ran a hand over his face, and _shit_, he realized that he was shaking a little. This was ridiculous. _He_ was being ridiculous. A few steps later, not even halfway down the hall, a shadow flickered at the corner of his eye. He glanced over his shoulder, and almost tripped over his own feet.

"Sheppard! For God's sakes!" Rodney threw his hands in the air, his heart skipping a beat. John had been following so close behind him that he nearly plowed into Rodney's back. Even freaking catatonic, the man moved in stealth mode. "That's _two_ heart attacks now!" Rodney shouted.

John flinched, stumbling a few steps away from him, and Rodney immediately felt like an asshole of the puppy kicking variety. He took a deep breath, willed himself to calm down, then carefully took hold of John's arm, and began to lead him back to the infirmary. He was surprised when John more than willingly came along with him.

They were met by Carson who had been standing in the middle of the room, looking frazzled.

"Oh, thank you, Rodney," he breathed out, relieved, when he saw John. "I can't get him to stay put."

"Yeah, well… he's all yours." Rodney positioned John directly in front of the doctor. He placed both hands on John's shoulders, then pointed a finger in his face. "Stay."

"He's not a dog, Rodney," Carson said, giving him an odd, bemused look.

"I don't know…" Rodney countered, "he's doing a damned good impression of this dumb old mutt I used to have."

"Rodney…" Carson breathed out in admonishment. "Look since you're here, do ye mind keepin' an eye on him for a while?" he added, hopeful. "He's pacin' all over the place, and I have a couple of patients come down with a bad stomach bug, and he's makin' them nervous. I don't have the heart to confine him to a room as restless as he is…"

"Well... _give_ him something to calm him down, or... or something," Rodney said, waving a hand in John's direction. "I mean... you _are_ treating him, aren't you?"

"_Yes, _I'm treatin' him, but the type of injury and trauma that he suffered does not go away overnight – you know that. I can't even begin to take guess at his prognosis, but right now, he's having a rough time of it, and it would be extremely helpful if you could keep him company for a little while."

"But I have work to do!" Rodney protested, even as John stepped closer beside him, so close that his arm was almost brushing against Rodney's. "Can't you ask Teyla… or... or Elizabeth? Or Ronon, even—"

"But you're _here_ now," Carson said, exasperated. "And for some unknown, possibly masochistic reason, John's more than willin' to go along with you now, and he responds well to you."

"I'm just not… any good with… with… sick people," Rodney said, glancing at Sheppard who had started rocking in place, staring into space and seemingly oblivious to the conversation. "Teyla – now, Teyla's great at that stuff."

"Rodney, I don't know why, but you've been doin' a bloody good job of avoidin' him like the plague ever since he got back – he's _not_ contagious, if that's what you're worryin' about."

"I _know_ that!" Rodney snapped and felt heat rising in his face. He hadn't thought he'd been that obvious. Did Tosia send around a memo, or something?

"Why don't you go for a walk with him," Carson suggested. "He usually follows right along, and the exercise and familiar surroundings will do him some good. Do ye think you can manage a walk, Rodney?"

"Yes, I can manage a walk, _Carson,"_ Rodney sneered. "But—"

"Good," Carson said, pleased, and bounced on the toes of his boots. "I'll see you both in about half an hour." He bustled off to check on a patient who was so huddled under the covers that it was impossible to tell who it was.

"Half an _hour?_" Rodney called after Carson. Without looking back, the doctor waved his hand in a shooing gesture. "Oh, for Christ's sakes," Rodney muttered under his breath. He was willing to bet any amount of money that Tosia and Carson were in cahoots with one another. "Right, it's not like I don't have anything better to do…" He looked at John. "Sooo, Sheppard, what do you want to do? A walk, like the man says, or how about a game of poker instead? Chess? Charades?"

John folded his arms over his chest, looked up the ceiling, and Rodney waited for the lights to start flashing again. When nothing happened, and John kept looking up at nothing, Rodney shook his head and took a deep breath.

"Oh, let's just get this over with," he groused. He only had to nudge John's arm to get him to come along, and as they walked down the corridors, Rodney tried to pretend that this was just an ordinary day in Atlantis. He chattered on about anything and everything he could think of, and John walked alongside him in that strange tiptoed gait, running his fingers along the wall. Rodney couldn't believe that Carson had actually roped him into this.

They went by the east pier and for the first time, John showed a little interest in his surroundings. He ambled over to the window, placing his hands against the cool glass, muttering softly to himself. Then before Rodney could react, John found the door, darted outside and to the railing.

"Whoa!" Rodney shouted, racing after him. What _was_ the attraction of this damned particular balcony, anyway? Then he noticed the jumper whooshing along in the sky. "Sheppard, wait!"

John pressed his legs up against the railing, and leaned his upper body over it, neck craned to stare up at the sky as the jumper disappeared into the atmosphere.

"Jesus! _Don't_ move! John!" Rodney grabbed a fistful of the back of John's sweater, and with his other hand, reached around the other man's chest, and hauled him back.

John stumbled, struggled a moment, and then leaned up against him, settling for waving a bandaged hand over the horizon. "Fly."

"Not today you're not," Rodney gasped in a shaky voice, his heart racing. He kept a firm arm around Sheppard's chest. _God. Make that three heart attacks now._

John muttered something again, still staring up at the sky. After a moment, he turned his head to look at Rodney, frowning. "Fly?" he repeated, watching Rodney carefully, as though willing him to understand. When Rodney only looked at him, confounded, John pushed away from him, roughly shaking his head and making a frustrated sound through gritted teeth.

"Yes, yes, okay! Fly!" Rodney said. "Jumpers, bird, lunatics. Whatever." When John gave him a perplexed look, Rodney softened. "You used to fly one of those jumpers, too. Do you remember that?" John only gazed back at the cloudy sky that seemed to blend into the vast sea. Keeping one hand firmly wound in the sleeve of John's sweater, Rodney glanced at his watch. All of five minutes had passed, but he'd be damned if he'd bring Sheppard back to the infirmary now and have to deal with Carson and Tosia's scorn. After all, a guy had to maintain some semblance of pride, didn't he? Looking at John, he said, "What do you say we go hang out in my office for a while, huh? Less things for you to jump off there."

Sheppard scowled at him then nodded once, and Rodney tried to take that as a good sign.

And once safely inside his small and the first time he'd noticed, windowless office, Rodney shut the door behind them and bolted it so that Sheppard couldn't dart outside on him. Rodney hunched over his laptop, figuring he may as well check his emails while he was here. He kept one eye on John, who'd immediately sat himself down on the floor, and slumped against the wall facing him. Frowning, his features pinched, John began to very lightly thump the back of his head against the wall. Rodney thought that maybe he should stop him, but since it didn't look as though John was hurting himself any, he decided to leave him be.

Rodney wondered if John had any memory of the many times he'd hung out in this office, watching Rodney work, making a game of how long he could pester his friend until he got himself kicked out. Rodney never thought that he would come to miss that. Sheppard was now so quiet as to be unnoticeable, and Rodney found it strange that his silence was far more distracting than any of the immature jokes, jibes or stupid arguments that always ended up with both of them cheerfully calling each other every derogatory name they could think of.

With sudden and startling clarity, Rodney remembered their last conversation here – Sheppard had been trying to convince him that Tom Waits was a 'musical genius,' despite the fact that Rodney thought the man sounded like he'd been gargling with razor blades. To which Sheppard reiterated that Rodney's scratched old Violent Femmes CD that was playing in the background at the time was 'weird and whiny.' That, of course, turned into a full-fledged debate over who had the least amount of serious musical appreciation, which led to Rodney accidentally admitting that the first album he had ever bought was Abba's self-titled one. Before he could explain that he'd bought it for Jeannie's birthday, Sheppard was in full pestering glory and in a surprisingly good voice, began singing, 'Mama Mia' at the top of his lungs, no matter that he didn't even know the lyrics. Rodney had ended up shoving him, still singing, out the door and slamming it behind him.

Later that same day, they had gone to the mainland, and found the portal. Rodney couldn't believe that possibly the last halfway intelligent conversation he'd ever have with his best friend was such a pathetically inane one.

Forcing the terrible realization from his mind, Rodney sifted through the pages of messages in his inbox and tried to lose himself in his task. Without thinking, or taking his eyes off the screen, he pulled a candy bar from his pocket, unwrapped it, and started munching. After a few bites, he noticed John's eyes following the motion of his hand to his mouth.

"You hungry?" he asked around a mouthful. John kept looking at him, which Rodney took as a possible 'maybe.' He broke off a piece, crouched down in front of his friend and offered it to him. John just stared at it. Feeling somewhat ridiculous, Rodney held the piece of chocolate to John's mouth, pressing it lightly against his lips. John's brows pulled together, his tongue flicked out, tasting it, and then he opened his mouth, carefully accepting it and slowly chewing.

Grinning, Rodney couldn't help an odd sense of triumph, like he'd just coaxed a wild bird into eating out of his hand. Shaking his head at how pathetic a victory it was, he stuffed the rest of the bar in John's bandaged hand and curled his fingers around it. When John just held onto it, Rodney moved the man's pliant arm up and down. "Eat? You know, bite, chew, swallow. Come on, you've been doing it for years."

Keeping his eyes on Rodney's, John slowly raised the candy bar to his mouth, took a small bite then let it drop from his fingers and onto the floor.

_Well, it was a little progress,_ Rodney thought. _Yeah, right. Doing just great, Sheppard._ "One step up from a turnip, huh, buddy?" he muttered.

"Turnip," John said, looking straight at him.

Rodney stared in horror at his friend, shocked by his own stupidity. "Nonono… forget I said that," he quickly corrected. "You're _not_ a turnip. You're much livelier, _much,_ much better than a turnip."

"Better n'turnip…"

"Stop that!" Rodney ordered, pointing a warning finger at John. "I told you to forget I said that, remember? There are _no_ turnips in this room."

John scowled at him a moment before his gaze drifted. He seemed to focus on something then clambered to his feet.

"What?" Rodney said, turning in the direction John's gaze seemed to be fixated. All Rodney could see was his cluttered bookshelf – tattered file folders stuffed to the point of overflowing, dirty coffee mugs, scattered bits of computer parts.

John stumbled to the shelf, fumbled at something and a cheerful, chirpy disco beat blasted the small room. Rodney yelped and clamped his hands to his ears. Then he recognized the opening verse: _I've been cheated by you since I don't know when... _He stared at Sheppard in astonishment and outrage.

"Wh-where did you get that!" he sputtered. "You… you snuck back here and slipped that in my stereo, didn't you?" Rodney shouted over the music, pointing at the half-buried portable CD player. "Before we left for the mainland… didn't you?"

John grinned and for a heart-stopping moment, he seemed so Sheppard... so damn _normal_.

Rodney stared at him, hopeful, and then realized that John was looking straight through him, rather than at him. John ambled back to his previous spot and sat sprawled on the floor. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, his features relaxed, almost peaceful.

Rodney gritted his teeth, turned the stereo down a notch and went back to his laptop. Without realizing it, he began tapping his foot in time to the music as he tried reading a few more messages. When he caught himself singing along with the chorus, _Mamma Mia, here I go again, _he cursed under his breath. Jeannie had played that stupid song so many times that Rodney had finally stolen it and used it in one of his chemistry experiments. Just as the song began to play _again,_ his radio beeped at him and a voice came over the earpiece.

"Oh, thank God," he breathed out.

Carson's voice said something that Rodney couldn't make out. "What?" he shouted over the music.

"Where in God's name are you, Rodney?" Carson yelled back. "It sounds like a nightclub in there. You can bring John back now. It's almost time for his medication."

Rodney glanced at his watch, surprised that nearly forty-five minutes had passed. "I promise, we'll be _right_ there."

He stood and snapped the stereo off. The resulting silence made his head buzz in relief. John sat up and placed his hands over his ears. He muttered something under his breath and Rodney crouched down close to him, trying to make out what he was saying.

"Too loud..." John whispered, "too loud... stop..."

"What do you mean it's too loud?" Rodney said, perplexed. "I just shut the damn thing off. And if you weren't such a freaking basketcase right now, I swear the payback for hijacking my CD player would be _huge."_

John shook his head from side to side, then looked straight at Rodney. "Too _loud,_" he insisted.

"_What's_ too loud, dammit?"

John snarled in frustration then banged the back of his head against the wall. Hard.

"Hey!" Rodney grabbed John's arm. "Don't!"

John yanked his arm free and jerked backwards, once more smacking his head with a sickening thud. Rodney yelled and reached for him, but before he could stop him, John again slammed his head hard enough to rattle the items on the shelves. Panicked, Rodney grabbed John by his upper arms and hauled him to his feet. John tugged against his grip, shouting in wordless protest.

"Sheppard, cut it out!" Rodney shouted, struggling to keep hold of his friend. John twisted around, his elbow slamming into Rodney's ribs. Rodney yelped in pain. "Dammit, John! Stop it!" he gasped, pushing John a little harder than intended. The momentum caused John to stumble and fall to his knees. He looked up at Rodney, his eyes wide, his expression somehow both confused and utterly bereft.

"Stop…" he said in a tremulous voice.

Rodney just stood there a moment, his side stinging, his eyes watering. Then he sank to his knees in front of his friend, helplessly dropping his hands to his thighs. "Aw, shit... John..." he said. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

John ducked his head, curling his upper body over his legs. "Stopstop_stop..._ they won't stop, Rodney."

Rodney stared at him, stunned that John had directly spoken to him. "Who won't stop?" When John began rocking, his motions almost frenetic, Rodney grabbed his shoulders with both hands, stilling him. "Sheppard, who are you talking about?" He waited a moment, but John only groaned and shook his head. "Sheppard, answer me, dammit." He pushed John upright and gave him a slight, but firm shake. "Tell me what the hell you're talking about!"

John finally looked at him, and Rodney was surprised to see that his hazel eyes were filled with tears. "Thought they would s-stop..." John said, his voice and chin trembling, "but they won't... even here... th-they won't stop... I – I can't..."

Anything else he said was lost in a shuddery, hitching breath and then another. A tear spilled down John's cheek, and Rodney felt a sudden pricking behind his own eyes. John raised a hand to tug at his hair, and for the first time, Rodney realized that it was much longer than he'd ever seen it. He pulled John's hand away, gently disentangling his fingers from the dark strands. He noticed that the bruise around John's eye had faded to swirls of greenish yellows and pale pinks, and all at once Rodney was ashamed of himself for turning his back on his friend for so long. He reached around John's too-thin shoulders and pulled him close. John leaned against him, his chin digging into Rodney's shoulder, his shuddering breaths rasping in his ear. Rodney rubbed John's back, dismayed that he could easily feel his ribs even under the heavy sweater.

"You gotta snap out of this, buddy," Rodney whispered for fear that if he spoke any louder his voice would break. "You're going to snap out of this, and we're going to get you past this," he told his friend. "And you're going to be okay, because I won't accept anything less than that."

John curled his fingers in Rodney's shirt and held on tight. When Carson called over the radio again, Rodney ignored him. Sheppard's medication could wait a few more minutes. Everything could wait just a few more damn minutes.

* * *

---tbc---


	17. Chapter 17

Oy, sorry for the long delay, guys! Had one of those awful, brain-draining weeks at work, but I hope this chapter will make up for the wait a little. And, of course, I would be remiss if I didn't say a _big_ thank you for the wonderful reviews last chapter. I was beaming all week!

Another language warning for this chapter – yeah, Rodney's swearing again. The brief mentions of John's background are not canon, so until we get some actual personal information on the lovely man, I'm giving myself free rein to make up that kind of stuff at will. Please forgive any medical inaccuracies - I do try to research as much as possible, but of course, there's only so much you can learn from the net. Also, my apologies to anyone who lives in Drumheller, Alberta, Canada, although you may even agree with me on the weather… And now... on with the story:

* * *

"Well, the planet is just as primitive as Tosia says it is," Rodney said to Elizabeth with a shrug.

Nodding, Elizabeth placed her folded hands on the meeting room table. "Did you see any of the villagers?"

"The place was so buried under snow that it was hard to make out much of anything," he answered, looking to the others for confirmation. Teyla nodded and Ronon slouched further in his chair, which Rodney had come to recognize as a sign of affirmation.

The team hadn't been back long from their reconnaissance trip to the planet with Major Lorne taking Sheppard's place at the jumper's helm. As they'd approached the area of the planet's designation, all they could see was empty space, and the jumper's sensors couldn't detect a thing. Rodney's unconscious skepticism had naturally pitched up a couple of notches at that. Even still, they cautiously neared what he'd started half-jokingly calling the 'invisible planet,' and entered what he and Tosia had mapped out as the planet's outer atmosphere. The space around the jumper had crackled and sparked with sudden flashes of light and energy. Even with its inertial dampeners, the ship had rocked with turbulence. Lorne had gritted his teeth, fighting with the controls, and Rodney found himself wishing for Sheppard's calm assurance behind the helm. All they could see around them was flashing blue-tinged light, like an electrical storm, and Rodney had taken moment to brace himself for suddenly being vaporized in a burst of pissed-off Ascended energy. And in the next moment, they were clear.

As he and Tosia had both hoped and anticipated, the Ascendeds hadn't had too many concerns with protecting the planet from Ancient technology.

Lorne had cloaked the ship as they flew down and down through swirling snow and gusting winds. By that point, Rodney and Sheppard would have started their usual running commentary on their first impressions of the planet. Sheppard would probably have said that the place reminded him of the Antarctica in the summer, but Rodney found the landscape to be surprisingly similar to the Drumheller Badlands in the dead of December. He'd only been there once, which was one time too many in his own opinion –smitten enough with a girlfriend back in his early college days to be talked into driving all the way from Ontario to Alberta to spend Christmas at her parents' place. Funny, as he'd thought of that, he couldn't even remember the girl's name or why they'd broken up. But the ragged cliffs and hillsides with patches of scrubby trees and skeletal bushes looked very much the same. When he'd told the others all this, he'd been met with blank, perplexed stares and again, Rodney had found himself missing his friend with an intensity that felt suspiciously like grief.

As they'd flown nearer to a patch of habitation, there was little change in the landscape – more random sections of trees and bushes, another short range of cliffs and hills, which was likely where Tosia had first found Sheppard. It didn't take long to spot the village with its snow-dappled, gray rooftops that were only barely visible amidst the mounds of snowdrifts. Even though it had been mid-day, they didn't notice any people out and about, most of them probably hunkered down in their meager homes, trying to stay warm.

Lorne had pulled up after that – deciding that they had seen all they needed to see. The trip out of the atmosphere was just as bumpy, but otherwise uneventful and they were back on Atlantis in less than two hours.

"Are the weather conditions favorable enough to make a return trip to the planet with Tosia and the supplies within the next few days?" Elizabeth asked. "I spoke with Carson a little while ago, and he said that Tosia's still weak, but should be well enough to travel by then."

"Yes, yes, we'll be fine," Rodney said, waving a hand. "The supplies are only going to tide those people over, though. We're talking seriously primitive, Elizabeth."

"Well, the Athosians are more than willing to share the mainland with them. There's plenty of room should they decide to relocate," Elizabeth said, looking at Teyla as though for additional confirmation.

"My people will welcome them," Teyla agreed with a smile, and it was true, Rodney thought. The Athosians were always eager to meet anyone new, though it seemed likely, from what Tosia had told him, that her people might not be quite so amenable.

"These people been isolated for so long that they'll likely be wary of outsiders," Elizabeth said, echoing Rodney's thoughts. "We may have to convince them that relocating is in their own best interests."

"Yeah, well... let's leave that convincing in Tosia's very capable Ancienty hands," Rodney said, wincing at the thought of trying to convince 200 something paranoid, cloistered villagers to get in a scary looking space ship and travel to another planet. "Personally, I'm not very big on meet and greets."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," Elizabeth said, smirking at him. She stood and pushed back her chair, signifying that their meeting was over. "We'll get a jumper set with food and supplies for the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, Rodney, why don't you go tell Tosia the good news? She's been waiting quite anxiously."

Rodney looked at her, surprised. He'd figured that Elizabeth would want to be the one to tell the old woman, but at the same time, he for once didn't feel the need to protest the enforced public relations. Besides, he knew that Tosia would only track him down if he didn't report back to her as soon as possible anyhow. Oddly enough, he was even looking forward to telling her of their success, something positive for once.

A short time later, he found Tosia asleep beside Sheppard's bed in the infirmary, her gnarled fingers loosely clasped around his lax hand. She'd wrapped herself in a blanket and sat huddled in a chair, looking very small and startlingly fragile. She stirred but didn't wake when Rodney stepped closer to her. He was about to rouse her but then he glanced at John, and all at once, his attention became fixated on his friend. The side rails on John's slanted bed were raised, and John had slumped heavily against the far rail, his head tipped so far to one side that his ear was nearly resting on the cold metal.

Rodney darted to John's side and gently slipping his hand between John's head and the rail, he began to carefully shift the other man to a more comfortable position. As he raised John's head, a trickle of saliva ran from the corner of his parted lips and dripped down his chin. John made a soft, protesting sound, his eyes slid half-open, and his free hand clumsily batted at Rodney's chest. With suddenly shaking hands, Rodney eased John back onto the pillows. He caught a thin sliver of glazed and unfocused hazel irises before John's eyes rolled back and slowly drifted shut again.

Anger surged within Rodney so swiftly and so unexpectedly it left him breathless. He tore a thick wad of tissues from the box on the table beside the bed and mopped the drool from John's mouth and chin. He threw the wad on the floor, but that wasn't nearly satisfying enough for the fury simmering within him, and so he spun and swiped the box and stack of magazines from the side table onto the floor.

"Rodney?" Tosia quickly sat up, watching him with wide, concerned eyes.

"This is _bullshit,"_ he said through gritted teeth and without looking at her. Where the _hell_ is Beckett?" Before Tosia could answer, Rodney strode to the curtain, shoving it back and shouted the man's name so loud that his voice cracked in between syllables.

"What in God's name is it?" Carson huffed, breathless, and appearing so suddenly that Rodney would have been startled had he not been ready to throttle the man.

"I said give him something to _calm him down_," Rodney fumed, pointing at John, "not turn him into a fucking zombie!"

Carson frowned, then glanced at John who lay so still as to be comatose, his features slack, skin pale. The doctor sighed and nodded in understanding. "I know it's a little disturbing to see him like this, but—"

"Drooling into your lap is more than _a little disturbing!"_ Rodney broke in. "I mean... _Jesus,_ Carson!

"Rodney... take it easy a moment..." Carson raised a placating hand. "I had to give him a strong dose of sedative to settle him down. He's become extremely agitated and combative, and I was afraid he was going to injure himself. Right now, the only thing I can do for him is to keep him quiet and hopefully, give him the chance to heal."

"Quiet? Is that what you call this?" Rodney snarled. "He looks like you gave him a goddamned lobotomy!"

Carson looked at Rodney for a moment, as if carefully considering his words. He took a breath and then said softly, "Look, Rodney, you need to understand that John suffered only minimal brain damage. Even with the initial concussion, there was very little physical injury," Carson said. The doctor was so calm and so reasonable in the face of Rodney's anger that it only infuriated him even more, but he forced himself to listen.

"I can only conclude that John's symptoms and erratic behavior are stemming from severe psychological trauma and that he is extremely mentally ill at this point," Carson explained, his voice low, sympathetic. "Medicating him is the only way to try to balance out his brain chemistry. Until, or if, he comes out of the catatonia, there is little else I can do for him right now."

"Wh-whoa... wait a minute... _if _he comes out of it?" Rodney questioned, waving his hands in shocked disbelief. "It's only been a week! Don't you think it's a little early to lock him up and throw away the key?"

"He's been _here_ a week, but he has been ill for over a month now, Rodney," Carson reminded him. "We're not dealing with any ordinary trauma here." He paused to look at each of them, but Tosia's attention wasn't on either of them. Instead, she was watching the slow, but steady rise and fall of John's chest, her fingers still twined in his, her thumb unconsciously rubbing the back of his hand.

"We have no way of knowing what exactly that device did to him," Carson continued, looking back to Rodney, "and we have to consider the possibility that John may never recover from this. It is possible that it was simply too much for him to take. The human brain has a way of protectin' itself, and when there's too much overload, it simply shuts down, which is exactly what John's mind has done. As I said, unfortunately, all that I can do for him is treat the symptoms."

"So in other words, you have absolutely _no_ idea what you're doing," Rodney said, nodding and tightly pinching his lips. Startled, Tosia looked up at that and gave him a sharp, but sympathetic look. Rodney knew he was overreacting, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

'_They won't stop... even here, they won't stop...'_ John's frantic pleading echoed in Rodney's mind. He remembered the terrible desperation in his friend's eyes as he'd stared at him, as though he'd hoped that Rodney could somehow find a way to make them stop. Whoever or whatever the hell _they_ were.

"Elizabeth and I have already discussed this and we weren't going to say anythin' just yet, but I think you have a right to know..." Carson said, interrupting Rodney's thoughts. The doctor looked suddenly exhausted, his features downcast. "The Daedelus is arrivin' ten days from now... and if John doesn't show any improvement in that time, we've decided to send him back to Earth where there are facilities that specialize in treating patients with this level of trauma—"

"No. No fucking way," Rodney interrupted, shaking his head. He didn't think it was possible, but his temper pitched up another notch. "I can't believe you're even suggesting that."

"Rodney, I don't like this any more than you do, but surely you understand that there may not be a choice in the matter—"

"And _you _may not understand something, Carson," Rodney continued, relentless, his voice trembling with fury, "but Sheppard doesn't _have_ anyone on Earth who gives a flying _shit_ about him!"

"John's father is still alive last I heard," Carson said carefully, stunned by the force of Rodney's words.

"And who he hasn't spoken to in fifteen years!"

Carson's eyes widened, and he glanced at John who hadn't stirred once during their entire exchange. "How do ye know that?"

"It's amazing what enough Athosian wine, and a who had the worst childhood drinking contest will bring up," Rodney snapped. "Sheppard won, by the way. And do you _know_ what will happen to him back there? He'll wind up in some goddamned maximum-security military based looney bin, drugged to the gills—"

Tosia was suddenly by his side, pressing close to him. She took firm hold of his arm, momentarily surprising him into silence. Looking to Carson, she waited until the doctor met her gaze before speaking. "John _has_ shown improvement, Dr. Beckett. He is much better and much more aware than when I first found him. As you said, he just needs time to heal. He is very stubborn, and he is very determined, I have noticed," she said firmly. "I would not give up on him so soon."

"Thank you!" Rodney nearly shouted, waving an arm over her head. "_Finally_ a voice of reason!"

Carson sighed, and tore a hand through his gelled hair, making the top stick up even further and took a moment to collect his thoughts. "All right… let's all just settle down a moment and not get too far ahead of ourselves," he said quietly. "Let us see how he progresses over the next little while and we'll go from there."

"Right. Fine," Rodney said, nodding and willing himself to calm down. He turned to look at John as one foot kicked spasmodically at the covers and then stilled.

"I am sorry, Rodney," Carson said quietly behind him. "I promise you, lad, I _am_ doin' everything I can for him. If there was some other way..." The doctor's voice helplessly trailed off, and all at once, crushing silence surrounded them.

Rodney took a deep breath then nodded again, immediately realizing the truth and the honesty behind the other man's words. He knew Carson would work day and night if it would make even an iota of difference to Sheppard. And the toughest reality to swallow was that there really was nothing to do but wait, and waiting had always been the worst kind of hell for Rodney, no matter what the circumstance. He tightly folded his arms around his chest and listened to Carson's footsteps moving away, leaving them alone.

Then there was a small hand on his tightly clenched fist. Tosia squeezed his fingers once then let go. "I wish there was something I could do... Some way to make things right again..." she almost whispered.

Rodney snorted with humorless laughter. "Can you somehow reach enlightenment and ascend again… just long enough to snap your fingers and turn Sheppard back to his normal, annoying self? Maybe get rid of the Wraith while you're at it?"

Tosia chuckled and shuffled back to her chair. She picked up her blanket and pulled it over her shoulders before sitting back down. "Even if the others would allow it, I am afraid that I am far too cynical and bitter to ever reach such a heightened state again."

Rodney dropped his head, shrugged, and then perched on the end of Sheppard's bed, facing her. "It was worth a try, anyhow."

"There are many things I wish I would have done back then... as an Ascended," Tosia said, nodding, almost as though to herself. "Had I known the extent of the punishment for disobedience, destroying the Wraith would have been one of those things. What a glorious final act of rebellion that would have been, hmm?" She smiled at him and in that moment, Rodney caught a glimmer of the effortless beauty she'd once possessed.

"Going out with one hell of a bang," he agreed, grinning crookedly. "So... something tells that ascension isn't really all that it's cracked up to be. A little restrictive, perhaps?"

"It was not what I expected, but at the same time, if I were able to do it all again, I would," Tosia said, her gaze straying to John, as though she found it difficult to make such an admission.

"Well, there _is_ the whole immortality aspect to consider," Rodney amended. "I just have a problem with giving up little things like..." he paused and waggled his fingers in front of his face, "...matter."

"Being willing to surrender your physical form is one of the most difficult obstacles enlightened ones have to overcome," Tosia said, nodding. "Deeming yourself worthy is another." She paused and looked straight at Rodney, her gaze piercing. "You were somewhat hard on the doctor, but I am glad of it, all the same, for John's sake. Have you come to forgive yourself, Rodney? For what happened to him?"

Instead of his usual irritation with probing questions like that, Rodney instead pondered it. He looked at John who was breathing deeply, peacefully almost. His features were relaxed, the lines of tension around his eyes smoothed out. Rodney looked back at Tosia and met her appraising stare full on.

"No... I haven't... not really," he admitted. "I sometimes get so... wrapped up in my work that I... I sometimes forget..." He trailed off, unsure what he had been about to say. He looked down at his clasped hands. "But he's my friend... and... and friends don't turn their backs on one another."

Tosia nodded in understanding.

"So... anyway," Rodney said, forcing a ray of brightness in his voice. "What I actually came here to tell you, before I got so horribly distracted, is that the mission to your planet was a phenomenal success. My estimations were correct in that the Ascendeds aren't worried about Ancient technology whatsoever, and we slipped right on through that shield of theirs."

That is very good news indeed," Tosia said with a relieved smile.

"Yes," Rodney said in full agreement. "Elizabeth has a return, meet, greet and feed mission planned for the day after tomorrow. So in two days, you get to go home."

"Home..." Tosia repeated, her eyes becoming overly bright with what Rodney suspected were threatening tears. She gazed up at the ceiling a moment, then at the surrounding walls, as though memorizing the architecture. Her gaze stopped on John's still form, but she seemed far away, in another place or time.

"Tosia?" Rodney called to her, concerned. "You all right? I mean, you don't _have_ to stay there, or relocate to the mainland. You're more than welcome to live here, in the city. Your knowledge is... it's absolutely indispensable."

It took another moment, but she looked up at him and then slowly shook her head. "I am sorry, Rodney... I am fine – old fools' minds tend to wander. Thank you for your offer, but I just realized something... I had never truly thought of that place as home. Even after so many years. I'd always thought of Atlantis as my true home. But that is not true... Not anymore."

Rodney didn't know what to say to that and so he said nothing.

"What shall I tell them?" Tosia suddenly said as another realization struck her. "How can I make them understand? The others banished along with me... we sheltered them from realizing what they lacked, and in doing so, we made them fearful, too frightened to look beyond the ends of their own noses. They have no idea who I truly am. Even my own family… I... I suspect it will be too much for them."

"So introduce them slowly. Tell them only what they need to know," Rodney said with a shrug. "You and Sheppard took shelter in the ruins. You found a transporter. It brought you here. We agreed to help you. They don't need to know any more than that."

Tosia pondered that, troubled. "I do not wish to deceive them, Rodney."

"You'll be _protecting_ them, like you've always done. That's not deception, and even if it is, then it's no worse than what you've already done to them, right?" Rodney said, pausing and anticipating her reaction, but she only looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "Okay, you're not the same person you were back when you lived in this city," he added, "or when you were an Ascended being, are you?"

"No, I am not," Tosia agreed. "Those were other lifetimes."

"You called your de-ascension a rebirth, which it was, in a way," Rodney said, matter of factly. "Let them keep seeing you as that same person they've known for 46 years, because that's who you are now, and that's all that matters."

She looked at him surprised, recognizing the simple truth to his words. Her people's blinders would have to be raised, but there was no need to reveal to them the universe all at once. There was no need to blind them in order to make them see. In due time, as they had always been meant to, they would begin to look around them. They would learn to dream and to hope and to move forward.

Tosia smiled and finally nodded at him. "Perhaps you are as intelligent as you have been boasting, after all, Rodney."

Rodney scowled at her, thinking she had meant the words caustically, but then he saw the gratitude and appeasement in her eyes. She sat up straight, her posture regal, and as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Yeah, well... tell me something I don't know," he said, shrugging almost modestly and hiding a grin.

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---tbc---


	18. Chapter 18

Thank you all for the very kind and very wonderful reviews! I adore you guys! I also promise that the end is in sight – only about three or four more chapters to go, so I hope you all still want to come along for the ride. And… without further ado, here we go:

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Looking out the long, narrow window alongside the infirmary, John gazed at the sea. He wished he could hear the rushing of the waves so that he'd have just one sound to focus on, but instead, the scattered noises surrounding him were that of people bustling around, chattering voices, numerous footsteps, the clatter of trays.

The other voices, the screaming ones were quieter now, quiet enough that he could finally hear what was going on around him, but still, he wanted to listen to the sea. If his limbs weren't so heavy and so leaden, he would push himself up from this wheelchair. He would find his way outside to one of the balconies, and he would listen to the waves and breathe in the smell of the ocean. But he was so tired that it was an effort just to keep his head from nodding, to keep his eyes from sliding shut. Still, he forced himself to stay awake. He didn't want to look away from the water. He couldn't look away, because for once, there was nothing else flitting across his vision, nothing else pulling him under, calling him to listen, to see them, to join them. There was nothing but the sea and he would watch it for as long as he could, for as long as they would let him. A part of him wondered where they had all gone to, those lost, trapped souls, but another part of him was grateful for the respite. He knew they'd be back. They always came back.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he almost looked up to see who it was, but then he stopped himself, afraid that if he glanced away from the waves, for even a moment, the faces, and the voices would come back.

"John..." someone called softly to him, and he was glad he didn't have to look away to recognize that the voice belonged to Tosia.

Her hand slid from his shoulder to his forearm and the sensation was fuzzy, muted. Then she was right in front of him, blocking his view of the window and the sea. He scowled and shifted in his chair, trying to see past her, but Tosia was relentless and only moved closer to him.

"John, I must tell you something," she said, and the urgency in her voice made him try to focus on her. She picked up his hand and held it in hers. He frowned at the heaviness and odd numbness of his own hand. He tried to curl his cold fingers around hers and they responded slowly and after much concentration. Her hand was warm, and it felt good when she gently chaffed his fingers between her own. "It is strange to see you so terribly still, so very quiet," she said softly to him, and John wasn't certain what she meant by that. "Are you better off this way?" she mused, aloud. "I trust that Dr. Beckett knows what he is doing, but still... this does not seem right, does it?"

He blinked at her and something about her words troubled him, so he looked back to the water.

"Rodney has found a way for me to return home, John. Your team and I will be leaving very soon," she continued, regardless of his inattention and gazing into his eyes. John tried to hear her, but it was so hard to focus, to think.

"But before I go... I must thank you..." Tosia paused, and looked away for a moment. Then, squaring her shoulders, she smiled at him and when she spoke again, her voice was calm and assured. "Because of you, and the generosity of your friends, my people now have a means to end their suffering and better their lives. And more selfishly..." she said, pausing and laying his hand back down only to pick up the other one. "I must thank you for allowing me to see Atlantis one last time." She glanced over her shoulder to the view of the city's tall, majestic spires and the sea shimmering in the morning sunlight. "I do not deserve it, but I am indebted to you for this miraculous gift."

Something clattered to the floor behind them, and John startled, squeezing his eyes shut a moment. With a sharp gasp, he tore his eyes open again when a rush of images immediately came forth – scattered thoughts, raw, mindless fear, screaming, helpless rage—

"Stop..." he said, forcing them away, forcing them down to hushed, but relentless whispers. He pulled his hand free from Tosia's and placed both of them over his ears. But Tosia only took firm hold of his wrists, pulling his hands away and holding them tight. She hovered right in front of him, but he couldn't look at her, couldn't see her. Why wouldn't she just go away and let him watch the waves?

"John, look at me a moment," she said in a sharp tone. He shook his head no, and turned his face away. Tosia released his hands and placed her own trembling ones on the sides of his face. She turned his head, forcing him to look at her, as she had done so many times before. "John, you must listen to me. Just this one more time, all right? Can you please do that? I know it is hard, but you _must_ try to listen."

The vehemence in her voice captured his attention, and it took a moment, but he was able to meet her gaze.

"That's it, that's good," she encouraged, smiling at him. "John, you must listen very closely to me now. You must be strong, and you must use that incredible determination you found in the ruins, and you fight, and you _find_ your way back from this!" She punctuated her strong words by giving him a firm shake. He blinked at her, and her words rang loud and clear through the countless, scattered thoughts racing through his mind. At the same time, he didn't know how he could do as she asked. "Do you understand, John? You must not stop until you find your way back. There are many people here who love you and miss you."

He held her fierce gaze, and he wanted to tell her that he'd tried. He'd tried and tried but they wouldn't let him go. He couldn't find his way back and it was just too hard. He wished that she would stop talking, that she would let him go and leave him alone. It was easier to watch the waves and tune out to where he didn't have to listen to anything, where he didn't have to see anything else. He jerked his chin, pulling away, but Tosia only tightened her grip and gave him another shake – harder this time, so hard that his teeth clicked together. His eyes snapped back to hers and he pulled in a sharp breath.

"John! I know you can hear me _and_ understand me – you have done it before," she insisted. "Promise me that you will fight, and that you will not give up."

John struggled to stay focused on her, but they were coming back, the voices were becoming louder, more urgent, _shushshushing. _His heart began to race, terror seized hold of him, but he forced himself not to listen to them. "Trying..." he gasped, suddenly needing to make her understand that he _was_ trying, that he wanted to make them go away, but he was so tired and they just wouldn't stop. "T-trying... but... I c-can't…"

Tosia stared at him a moment, startled. Her grip stayed firm and strong and she looked straight into his eyes, his very soul, it seemed. "Then you just try harder," she commanded. "_Fight,_ John. Promise me."

"Promise...?" he whispered, uncertain, and that one, familiar voice in his head shouted at him to do as she asked, to just buck up already, but he didn't want to listen anymore.

"All right." Tosia said softly, over the sound of the voice, but she looked troubled, her brow creased with worry. "I know that you will come out of this. You are a fighter, John, just like Gaereth was." She said this so assuredly that a part of him almost believed her even as another part of him was certain that he wouldn't be able to find his way.

Tosia's pale eyes filled with tears, and John didn't resist when she pulled him into a sudden and fierce embrace. Her grip was surprisingly strong as she held onto him. The contact was so reassuring, so _near,_ that he leaned his head against her thin shoulder. She cupped the back of his head, gently rubbing the short, soft hairs on the nape of his neck.

"Goodbye, John," she said in a trembling voice and kissed his cheek before releasing him and stepping back. "You are going to be all right, and I know that I am leaving you in good hands." She nodded again, as though reassuring herself. "You have a very good friend in Rodney McKay. You let him help you, but don't you take any nonsense from him, either."

John watched as she wiped away the tears on her face, and all at once, he didn't want her to go. "Bye..." he managed after a moment, but that wasn't what he had wanted to say, and he made a frustrated sound low in his throat. His suddenly stinging eyes began to water. His chest tightened with some indefinable emotion, and he wondered if he would ever see her again. At the same time, it was too much for him to take in. It was too hard... so hard to think clearly. He looked away from her to the window, to watch the silent water. But from the corner of his eye, he could still see her as she slowly walked away from him, leaving him alone. Blinking back unshed tears, he began to rock a little, began to hum softly to himself. He didn't have to see anything but the water, didn't have to hear anything but his own humming, and he didn't have to think. It was just easier that way.

But then a tear escaped, rolling down his cheek and trailing his jaw. It itched maddeningly, and he clumsily swiped it away. The noises of the infirmary and the nurses bustling around kept distracting him, and he stopped humming without realizing it. When one of the nurses came to check on him and offered him a glass of water, he managed to nod and take hold of it. The water tasted wonderfully cool and soothed his parched throat. He drank nearly the entire glass before handing it back to her.

That single, infuriatingly familiar voice spoke up in his mind again, as urgent as it was in the ruins. _Fight,_ it said, and like he had done before, back there, John couldn't help but listen to it, and he began to look for the way back.

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---tbc---


	19. Chapter 19

Sooo sorry for the long delay, everyone! Work has been a little stressful and they expect me to actually _work _when I'm there! How rude... Thank you again for the fantastic reviews and for hanging in there with me. There's a distinct Shep shortage in this chapter, but I promise you'll get a full dose of our lovely colonel in the final chapters, which are coming very soon. This chapter is a bit of a long one, but I do hope it was worth the wait. Here we go:

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Tosia hadn't anticipated that preparing to leave the city would be so very hard. Most difficult of all had been her farewell to John. He was still so lost, and he'd looked so helpless and so frighteningly subdued that she had to force herself to turn away from him and leave him alone in front of that window. Her last glimpse of him, for she couldn't help looking back one more time, was of his partial profile. His thick, dark hair that refused to lie flat, his dull gaze that was fixed on the window, the rapid rise and fall of his lashes that she liked to think meant he'd heard at least some of what she told him. It may well have been mere wishful thinking, but Tosia still allowed herself a good measure of hope for him. She did not know the man John had been before he had become so damaged, but what she did know for certain was that he was strong, and that he would be well taken care of. She wished that knowledge made it easier for her to leave him, but of course, it didn't.

As she waited for Rodney to come fetch her, Tosia stood beside the bed and rearranged her new belongings for seemingly the hundredth time. She shifted to one side the few changes of clothing she had been given during her stay. The samples of cosmetic luxuries she had almost forgotten – rich, creamy hand lotion and soaps that smelled like fresh rain. One of the nurses had even kindly given Tosia a brush for her long, thick hair, her one remaining vanity. When her hand brushed against the worn, but still glossy cover of the magazine depicting images from a modern-day Earth both fascinating and unfathomable, she smiled in guilty pleasure. Unable to resist taking it from the table by John's bed, she'd flipped through its pages every night since and couldn't bear to part with it now. Tucking the magazine more securely in her rolled-up old cloak, Tosia zipped the multi-pocketed backpack shut again – such a simple, but marvelous invention, she thought – and the small bottle of morphine tablets that Carson had given her rattled, a reminder of its presence. The muted twinge in her side a constant niggling of its necessity.

"So, ready to hit the road?" Rodney said from behind her, startling her. She turned to see him standing by the end of the bed. "Well, actually," he added with a shrug, "it's more 'hit the sky,' but one shouldn't get hung up on semantics, right?"

"Yes, I am ready, to go, Rodney," Tosia said smiling, picking up her bag and grateful to him for distracting her. And she _was_ ready. It was time to go home.

As they headed for the jumper bay, Rodney carrying her bag over his shoulder along with his own, he chattered on about things to which Tosia couldn't really pay much attention. Her thoughts kept drifting. Old, old memories, like ghosts, came to the surface with each hallway and room they passed. These were her last few moments on Atlantis. Part of her wanted to take her time and savor them, while another part wanted to rush along with Rodney and take her leave from this place with as little fuss and pointless sentimentality as possible.

And before she knew it, before the reality of what she was doing fully took hold, Tosia found herself in a gateship, Teyla in the seat beside her, Rodney in front of her in the co-pilot's chair. As they soared from Atlantis's atmosphere, higher and higher, the rush of the stars, the blackness of space and the fact that she was once more traveling in this manner filled Tosia with such a sense of surreality and vertigo that she pressed back in her chair and gripped tight the armrests of her seat.

Teyla gave her a worried glance. "Are you all right, Tosia?"

"It has been a very long time since I have been in a... jumper," Tosia answered the young woman with a shaky smile, her knuckles already starting to ache.

Without turning around, Rodney said, "Just so you know, we have a very firm no vomiting or freaking out rule on these things." Ronon immediately half-stood from his perch on the bench behind them, and smacked the scientist on the back of the head. "Ow!" Rodney yelped and rubbed his head, muttering something under his breath about 'overgrown, simplistic heathens.'

Tosia chuckled at that, and all at once, she began to feel a little better. She loosened her grip on the armrests and began to enjoy the ride.

"Oh, look," Rodney added after only a short time, one hand still on the back of his head, while he pointed at the empty space in front of them. "And here we are. Hold on, it gets a little bumpy at this point."

And it did. Tosia's eyes widened when they passed through the crackling of the energy barrier surrounding them. Like a bird caught in a windstorm, the ship rocked and buffeted through the shield, and Tosia was overcome with a sudden thrill of excitement, exhilarated to be so high, once again so free, for one last time.

Then they were clear and coasting over the landscape. The snowfall had tapered off to a few swirling flakes, and the ground sparkled clear white and dazzling in the pallid sun. Tosia knew that the air would still be cold, such terrible, unendurable cold that would remain for months. As they flew over the village, she found it strange to see it from such a distance. How tiny, forlorn and small it was. A traitorous part of her wanted to tell Major Lorne to keep flying, just for a little while longer, just so she could hold onto her newfound freedom for a few moments longer. Had she not been so anxious to see Lasca and Antal, she wondered if she would have given in to that temptation. Instead, she directed Lorne where to find the ruins. They had decided to land on the clear patch of ground just before where the ruins lay. The location was far enough from the village to avoid frightening her people with their sudden appearance, but close enough for Tosia to be able to walk back home, something she insisted upon.

With scarcely a jolt, the ship came to rest on a soft mound of snow and the back hatch opened. Gathering their gear, the team headed for the open door and stepped outside. Tosia hung back a moment watching them. How strange that Atlanteans were once again setting foot on this land, she thought, then smiled. No, how incredible, how _wonderful,_ she amended. Rodney turned and gave her a questioning look and squaring her shoulders, Tosia nodded and followed him outside into air so cold it momentarily stole the breath from her lungs.

They had walked only a few yards when Ronon spun to look behind him. Tosia frowned and followed the man's gaze. It took a moment, but then she was able to make out a figure in the distance, heading toward them. Tall, burly, bundled in a heavy cloak, and coming from the ruins. She instantly recognized the slightly hunched posture and loping gait. Antal! Her face broke out in a smile.

Ronon placed his hand on the belt by his hip when Antal began running towards them. Tosia strode forward and took the big man's arm. "No! Don't! It is all right."

Antal came to a dead stop a short distance from them.

"Antal! It is all right," Tosia called. "They will not harm you."

"Tosia?" the young man called questioningly, in disbelief. He even rubbed his eyes as though he were hallucinating.

Tosia's smile widened and she held out her arms. "Yes, it is me... come closer, Antal... I will not bite."

Antal whooped and sprinted the last few steps to her. With a wide, joyful grin, and his uncanny gentleness, he scooped her up in his strong arms and spun her around. Though the motion send a sharp flare of pain through her side, Tosia embraced him with all her strength and laughed at his unabashed delight. When Antal finally set her back down again, Tosia looked to the others who were standing back, staring at them in mingled astonishment and amusement.

Rodney waved an arm in the young man's direction. "I take it you two know each other?"

"Yes, we know each other, Rodney. Very well, in fact," Tosia said, breathless, still smiling and holding tight to Antal's cold hand. "This is my grandson. Antal, meet Rodney, Teyla, Ronon and Major Lorne."

Antal stared at them wide-eyed a moment then offered a shy hello. Darting a nervous glance at the others, he whispered, "But Tosia, where have you been? Everyone thought you and John were dead and buried in the ruins."

"I know..." Tosia said and squeezed Antal's hand. "I am sorry for frightening you so terribly, but I have a very good explanation that I will tell you in just a moment, all right?"

Antal nodded. He looked the others up and down, recognizing their similar clothing to John's, then perplexed, he scowled at Tosia. "Where _is _John, Tosia?"

"Well, that goes along with my explanation. It is quite the amazing story, in fact," Tosia told him. "One that I think your mother would like to hear, as well. Shall we go home and tell her?"

Antal looked stubborn for a moment then nodded, his face lighting up. "Mother is _not_ going to believe this! I am sorry, but I had to tell her about the secret room, Tosia," he said with a note of remorse in his voice. "I went back for you like I promised, but I couldn't find you. _Everything_ was buried, and there was no way inside anymore and the room was just... _gone_. We looked and looked for you, even Urvan and Kornel helped but we couldn't find you and they thought you were _dead," _Antal's voice wavered, and he took a deep breath. "I kept looking for you and John, though, because I thought that maybe you were hiding. _Were_ you hiding, Tosia?"

Tosia smiled and shook her head. "Not quite, but we found a wonderful place, Antal. John is fine and he is safe, so you do not have to worry anymore. Everything is all right now. _Better_ than all right. You will see." Tosia squeezed his hand once more.

Antal nodded even as he still frowned at her puzzlement. "That's good. Mother keeps saying that she should not have been so angry with you all the time, and she's going to be so happy to see you!" He gave Tosia another enthusiastic but careful hug. "Can we go home now and tell her?"

Teyla and Ronon exchanged a look and grinned. Shivering and with his arms folded tight over his chest, Rodney watched the young man with the wary caution one reserved for potentially explosive objects, then nodded. "Yes, yes, very good idea. A little chilly out here."

Antal placed his strong arm around Tosia, supporting her. As they began heading for home, it was yet another one of the strange ironies of Tosia's life to find that she was surprisingly glad to have returned to this place she once hated so terribly.

When they neared her small hut, Antal bounded ahead of them and hollered for his mother to 'come see, come see!' Lasca pulled open the door a short moment later, her expression a mixture of irritation and worry. Then she saw Tosia. Lasca's eyes widened, her mouth fell open and she pulled in a sharp gasp. Tosia went to her daughter and enfolded her in her arms. Shushing Lasca's confused and tearful flurry of questions, Tosia just held onto her. Tosia couldn't speak just yet, and it was so good to be home. To be with them again. Lasca finally gave up, fell silent and returned her mother's embrace. Tears freely ran down Lasca's face, even as she kept a wary eye on the Atlantean team who stood a short, discreet distance back.

When Tosia was finally able to let her daughter go, she realized that some of her neighbors had come out of their homes, cautiously approaching them. She had hoped to have a little more time with her family before facing this, but of course, one rarely got what one wished for. Steeling herself, Tosia looked to Rodney for added reassurance. He immediately met her gaze, pulled a wry face and shrugged in an off-hand manner that made her smile. Then he nodded and gave her a thumbs-up – an encouraging gesture he had explained to her a few days ago. It was time.

Even though apprehension filled her, and her confidence wavered, she knew it was best to get this over with as soon as possible. After so many years, and such a long existence, time had come to be in such terribly short supply. Tosia knew it would not be easy to make her people see. She knew it would take every remaining ounce of strength she had to convince them, but she owed them as much. She spotted Kornel and Urvan among the others. Silas, thankfully, had not yet appeared, but word would soon spread and the rest would come. Kornel pushed his way forward even as he fearfully looked back and forth from Tosia to the Atlanteans. The team tensed, bracing themselves for confrontation.

"Kornel," Tosia called, straightening to her meager, but full height. She met his disbelieving gaze full on. "I believe that we have much to discuss, do we not?"

---A---

Rodney had always enjoyed being the center of attention. It wasn't as though he sought it out, he just naturally _commanded_ attention, something to which he'd grown accustomed. But as he stood in front of 200-something, bordering on hostile villagers, all their paranoid, little eyes fixed on him, Rodney found he didn't relish this moment of spotlight so much.

They had all congregated outside in sub-zero temperatures that made Drumheller's December seem downright tropical. The low, rough-hewn podium on which he stood with Tosia and the village elders reminded him a little too much of similar ones he and his team had seen on the more hostile planets they'd visited, or in biblical movies where some poor bastard was flogged or stoned to death. Tosia had already talked herself near hoarse amongst the elders in a seemingly futile attempt to convince them of the Atlanteans' good intentions, offering them only the 'need to know' information, as Rodney had suggested. Instead of agreeing to consider the offer, the elders had subsequently called this impromptu meeting for the entire population, and Rodney wasn't quite sure just how he'd ended up being the unofficial Atlantean spokesman.

Gritting his teeth, he decided it was best to just get this over with as quickly as possible. As he extolled the virtues of the Atlantean mainland – great beaches, mild weather and friendly neighbors, he noticed his audience exchanging nervous, skeptical glances, whispering fearfully amongst one another. Some even laughed outright; the idea of another planet too ludicrous to even contemplate. Rodney winced, and hoping they didn't have any rotten vegetables stashed under their cloaks, he persevered and plunged forward.

"Did I mention better farming conditions," he added, "and we will always be on hand to assist—"

"What of the Wraith?" One man, who Rodney thought may as well have 'asshole' stamped on his forehead, blurted out.

Rodney scowled at the man for the interruption, then remembered his role. "No, no – not a single Wraith among us," he said, smiling as reassuringly as possible.

"But they are still a threat, are they not?" The man shouted with a sneer.

"Well, yes, but—" Rodney started but was drowned out by the loud protests and fearful gasps of the crowd.

Tosia pushed herself up from the crudely carved chair on which she'd been seated and came to stand beside Rodney. Visibly shaking, she shouted over the din. "You will be safe on the mainland! These people have the means to protect you if the Wraith do come." She ignored the few jeers and continued, "But you must see beyond that! These people are offering you a chance at a better life. Where you can provide for your families, where you will no longer have to endure these terrible winters. This planet was never meant to be home for so many people - it cannot sustain all of you for much longer. You all know this. How many did we lose last year to hunger and illness?" She paused to let that sink in, and the crowd grew quieter, all eyes fixed upon her. "Yes, the Wraith threat is there, but it is worth the risk to have a _future."_

"We have only your word, Tosia," the same man spoke up, and Rodney was ready to throw something at him. "Where's your _proof_ that this magical, fabled land exists?"

"_He_ is proof. As is this woman," Tosia said, pointing at Rodney and then at Teyla who stood off to the side of the podium. _"John_ is proof. As are the others who have come here along with me today."

"They are only of the stranger's tribe!" a young man shouted, waving his clenched fist for emphasis.

"See? I _told_ you that they would come!" the first man crowed, a smug, grating smile on his face as he looked around the crowd.

"Now, listen—" Rodney started, having had enough of this guy already, but without looking at him, Tosia placed her hand on Rodney's arm and shook her head.

"_Yes,_ they came, Silas!" Tosia shouted, shaking with fury now. "And they came _only_ because they wish to help us, even though they most certainly have no reason to do so after the way you treated John. Perhaps you should also tell everyone here how you and your mindless cronies broke into my home and attacked an innocent and injured man? How you planned to leave John out in the middle of nowhere to _die?_ How very near to committing murder you came? Hmm? I think they would find that very interesting."

One of the elders, Kornel, looked sharply at Silas, anger clouding his weathered features. The villagers all began talking at once, shifting nervously amongst one another, some staring in outright amazement at Silas.

"Hey!" Rodney called, raising his arms in a politician's stance and stepping to the end of the podium. "Listen everyone! You want proof that we are who we say we are?" He waited until he had their attention. "I'll give you that proof, right now. But before I do that, I caution you not to panic, and I assure you all that if we had any intention of harming any of you, we could have done it a long time ago." He winced at how that came out when some of the people crowding close to the podium quickly took a few steps back. "No, no - what I mean is, watch and be amazed!" Tapping his radio, he said quietly, "Okay, now."

Some fifteen feet, directly above them, the jumper appeared out of seemingly nowhere and hovering in mid-air. The collective gasps and shrieks of awe and terror were just what Rodney expected, and he couldn't help a satisfied smile. The jumper rose higher in the air, made a graceful turn and then slowly came down to land in the clearing a few yards away from them. The villagers stumbled backwards, compressing into a tightly packed, terrified crowd, all eyes wide and fixated on the astonishing, alien craft.

Rodney noticed Tosia staring at him in equal amazement, but for different reasons. "What?" he said, giving her his best innocent expression.

"Whatever happened to introducing them slowly?" Tosia said sternly, but the corners of her mouth were twitching with the hint of a smile.

Rodney shrugged. "It seemed like it was time for a more forceful manner of persuasion."

The crowd was stunned into silence when the back hatch opened and Lorne and Ronon emerged from inside. Teyla gracefully jogged over to the jumper and the three pulled out a trolley laden with food, blankets and supplies. Tosia nodded to Kornel and the man stepped forward. He held up his arms in the same manner as Rodney had down a few moments ago and waited until he caught their attention.

"We all have much to think about," Kornel said. "These people have generously offered us their assistance and this food. When the supplies have been equally divided amongst everyone, I suggest all of you go back to your homes, discuss with your families what they have offered us. We will meet again here in two days time at first light."

The crowd was still stupefied into polite submission as each family crowded around the jumper and patiently waited their turn and ration of supplies. Tosia watched her people silently, her eyes bright, features pinched and tensed.

"Kinda like feeding pigeons in the park, isn't it?" Rodney said.

"I have no idea what that means," Tosia said, amusement and affection brightening her eyes, "but I do have to thank you _again,_ Rodney. You were very persuasive. A bit of a showman, as well?" she added with a full grin.

Rodney shrugged. "Nah, the jumper thing was a trick I picked up from Sheppard. As for the speech, I've had lots of terrified minions to practice on. We'll see just _how_ persuaded they really are in a couple of days."

"If they are not, then that is their choice to make," Tosia said, surprising him, for that wasn't what he was expecting. He was figuring on more committee meetings, more endless debates and convincing. He looked at her questioningly and before he could voice his confusion, Tosia reached for his hand and clasped it tightly. "At least they _have_ a choice now. That is all I can offer them, and I can be at peace with that." She added that last bit so softly Rodney wasn't certain if she was aware that she had spoken aloud.

"So..." he breathed out, unsure what to make of anything and swung their hands a little before letting go. "Once we're done here, you get first dibs on a stylish hovel on the mainland. I'm thinking of some nice beachfront property with a view of the city..." Tosia smiled, but shook her head. "Unless... you've changed your mind about coming back to Atlantis?" Rodney added, surprised at the surge of hope at that prospect.

"I am staying here, Rodney," Tosia said, again shaking her head, resolute. "I am not going to the mainland, or to Atlantis."

"What?!" Rodney spluttered, his mouth hanging open in complete and utter astonishment. "After that big spiel on what a _crappy_ planet this is to live on, now you want to _stay?"_ He shook his head, and this was just typical of women, wasn't it? Like freakin' Sybils, each and every one of them. "What about Lasca and Antal? Don't you want a better life for them?"

Tosia took hold of Rodney's wrist and shook it to get his attention. "Rodney! Stop and listen to me a moment." He forced himself to clamp his mouth shut, still fuming. "Lasca and Antal... I would like for them to go to the mainland after I am gone," she said in a firm, determined voice. "They will not hear of it now, but perhaps in time, they will be more willing."

'What? What do you mean after you're gone?" Rodney said, shaking his head. "You're old, but you're not _that_ old. You've still got a few years left in you—"

"I am dying, Rodney," Tosia broke in, giving him a faint, but sad smile. "I had suspected it for a long time, but Doctor Beckett confirmed it for me. I asked that he and Elizabeth not say anything for it wasn't important at the time—"

"Wasn't important?" Rodney echoed, stupefied once again. "I'd say your own death is pretty damned _important,_ Tosia!" He took a sharp breath, willing himself to calm down. "Well, come back to Atlantis. I'm sure Carson can still do something for you."

"It is cancer, in the late stages," Tosia told him, surprisingly steady and calm. "There is nothing to be done. I have lived a very long time, Rodney. Longer than anyone has a right to. It is simply my time."

"Oh..." Rodney blinked and this was _so_ not what he'd expected at all. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. He felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. "Well... we – we can at least make you more comfortable on Atlantis. Lasca and Antal can come, too."

"That is what Dr. Beckett generously offered to me, as well, but I will be just fine here, Rodney," Tosia said, patting his arm reassuringly. "I have perhaps a few months left, and I want to spend them here, with my family and in my own home."

Rodney looked down and nodded even though he didn't agree with this at all. He folded his arms around his chest and the chill that went through him was just the temperature plummeting another sixty degrees. Or at least that was what he told himself.

"I hate to ask you one more favor after you have already done so much, but will you see to it that Lasca and Antal do go to the mainland?" Tosia asked. "Perhaps in the early spring? It was always my favorite time of the year there."

Rodney found it difficult to look at her, but he nodded again. "Yes, of course," he managed after a moment. "Of course, we'll... I – I'll look out for them."

"Thank you, Rodney," she said quietly.

He stared down at his snow-covered boots and he really, really wished people would stop doing this to him. He absolutely sucked at relating to people. At caring about them.

Tosia playfully swiped at his arm, startling him. "Come now, Rodney. I am not dead yet. There is still much to be done, and I will assist as much as I can in ensuring we get as many of these people to the mainland as we can."

He finally met her steady gaze with his shamefully damp one. "Okay. Chop chop," he said with false cheer, "back to work we go."

Tosia frowned in confusion at yet another perplexing Earthly reference and then Ronon was suddenly beside them. The Satedan looked at Tosia, then jerked his chin in the direction of Silas. The man had somehow managed to garner a small crowd around him, and he gesticulated even while talking in a low, conspiratorial voice.

"He's the one who gave you and Sheppard a hard time, right?" Ronon said, casually, almost conversationally.

Tosia nodded and a surge of anger went through Rodney as he glared at the man. When Ronon's fists clenched, and he stared at Silas, cold and assessing, Tosia said, "Silas is nothing but a mindless fool and a coward. Do not pay him any mind, Ronon. It is for the best that he remains here – he and those stupid enough to listen to him. That will be his penance and ultimate comeuppance." She noticed Lasca and Antal making their way through the remaining people, Antal carrying a large sack on his shoulder. Nodding in greeting to Rodney and Ronon, Lasca immediately stepped close to Tosia and carefully placed her arm over her mother's shoulders.

"We should get home now," Lasca said, looking at Tosia, worried. "You are exhausted."

"We'll meet you back there in a little while," Rodney said, nodding, "got this all under control."

"It may not appear so just yet, but my people are most appreciative of all you have done," Tosia said, then quirked an eyebrow as she glanced at Silas. "Some of us more than others, of course."

"Yeah, well..." Rodney said with a forced grin, "this is kinda what we do."

Returning his smile, Tosia allowed her family to gently steer her through the crowd and help her home.

Rodney watched them a moment, then noticed that Ronon was still glaring at Silas, probably trying to decide upon the most painful way to slowly kill the bastard. _That_ would go over so well in convincing these people to trust them, Rodney thought, even as similar thoughts of retribution filled him.

"Hold on, Fezzik," he said, shooting his teammate a nervous glance, "you can rip his arms off _after_ we convince these people to let us help them."

"That a promise?" Ronon growled, folding his long arms over his chest and keeping his eyes on the other man. "And since when do you care so much about these people?"

"I don't," Rodney quickly said. "But it's important to Tosia."

Silas finally must have felt the weight of the imposing Satedan's glare because he suddenly stopped his tirade, and his gaze darted over to them. Ronon bared his teeth at the man in what Rodney thought was meant to be a nasty grin, but he'd seen less terrifying smiles on Wraiths. Silas paled and wisely ducked behind a taller man.

"You've gotten attached to the old lady, haven't you?" Ronon smirked, and glanced back at Rodney.

"Hello? She's an _Ancient,_ Rodney answered, shifting uncomfortably "I'm attached to her _knowledge._ You know how long we've waited to meet one of them?" Rodney tucked his arms around his chest and shivered, and no way in hell, even under the threat of torture, was he going to admit to Ronon, of all people, that maybe, yeah, he'd developed a _slight_ fondness for Tosia that had nothing to do with her ancestry. "Besides, the sooner we finish the negotiations here, the sooner we can go home. I'm so cold I can't even feel my... feet, anymore."

Ronon watched him a moment, then nodded, not fooled one bit. For a man who only spoke in monosyllabic utterances, Ronon was surprisingly observant, Rodney had to admit.

* * *

---tbc---


	20. Chapter 20

A shiny Canadian penny to all of you who caught the Princess Bride ref in the previous chapter. Inconceivable... :-) A _huge_ thank you, as always, for the awesomely fantastic reviews. As promised, lotsa Shep in this one, and glory be, we're almost done!

* * *

With a quick, distracted glance at the chessboard, Rodney took one of John's rooks with his queen and set the piece down on the table. Rodney's gaze kept drifting out the commissary windows, but he wasn't seeing much of the view outside, just like he wasn't paying much attention to their game. He was finding it difficult to fully concentrate on much of anything since he and his team had returned home three days ago. He couldn't stop thinking about those villagers and about Tosia, even though another team had since taken over 'mission relocation,' as Ronon had rather ineptly dubbed it. Carson had also assigned a few of his medical staff to go along and treat the various injuries and illnesses, so it wasn't even as though they weren't being well taken care of.

But what was getting to Rodney, what was seriously ticking him off, was the fact that despite all his team and Tosia had done, only a few of her people had so far come around to considering the idea of relocating. Some of the elders, including Kornel, had expressed interest in an offer to visit the mainland and meet with the Athosians before making a decision themselves, so perhaps that would be the extra push the villagers needed. After all, Rodney thought, no one wanted to buy a piece of property without actually seeing it first, right? And if they still weren't convinced, maybe it all came down to what Tosia had feared; her people simply weren't ready. Either way, it was out of his hands.

Rodney had, however, found a large degree of satisfaction when, shortly before returning for home, he had spotted Silas skulking around sporting two spectacular black eyes and a fat lip. And in the jumper, on their way back to Atlantis, if Rodney noticed Ronon's reddened and skinned knuckles, well, he was discreet enough not to comment on them.

He jumped, startled, at a loud thunk. Rodney snapped his attention back to John, who had made his next move, banging his chess piece hard on the board to get Rodney's attention.

"All right, all right," Rodney groused. "Even drugged to the eyeballs, you're still a pain in the ass, you know that?"

John shook his head. "N-not drugged to... eyeballs."

"Okay, to your teeth, then," Rodney countered. In truth, Carson had cut back considerably on John's medication, but his motions and reactions were still slow and sluggish. Rodney slid his bishop to take one of John's pawns.

John scowled at him then stared at the board.

Rodney's attention drifted again as he waited for his next turn. He gazed around the commissary, but it was largely empty and despite his distraction, it still seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for John to make his next move. Rodney looked to his friend, and with a pang of guilt at his abstractedness, he realized that John's gaze was still fixed on the board, but his dulled eyes were distant and unfocused. His mouth hung slightly open, head tilted to one side, as though he were listening to some far-off conversation.

He'd been doing that a lot lately, over the past week. Lucid one moment, seemingly almost normal, and then he'd just zone out, completely unresponsive for minutes at a time. Thankfully, the manic pacing and freaking out had stopped, or maybe John was just too stoned for such displays of energy, but Rodney couldn't help the fear that surged through him every time John seemed to slip back.

Worried, Rodney watched his friend and waited to see if John would resurface on his own, as he did sometimes. Instead, John began slowly rocking back and forth in his chair. Rodney snapped his fingers in rapid succession in front of John's face. John only blinked and scowled at the board.

"Hey! Atlantis to Sheppard!" Rodney called loud enough to cause some of the people at the other tables to turn and look at them. He waved his hand in front of John's face. "Anybody home?"

With a flicker of panic, John's gaze darted to Rodney, then back to the board. Scowling in furious concentration, John picked up the queen and hovered it over the board. Unfortunately, it was the white one.

"No, no... you're black," Rodney reminded him. "You're _always_ black, remember?"

His eyelids heavy, John slowly blinked at him, then nodded after a moment. He placed the chess piece back in its previous square. "A-always black," he muttered, but to Rodney's relief, it sounded more like a mental note than the odd echolalia of only a week ago. John pulled in a deep breath and pushed a black pawn forward one position, leaving his king wide open for a checkmate. Rodney didn't have the heart to end their game just yet and instead, slid his queen back.

"Could've... taken me," John said dully.

Rodney gaped at him surprised, then grinned. "You noticed that?"

John nodded then tore his hand through his hair, roughly tugging on it. Most of the bandages had finally come off both hands, revealing numerous crisscrossing lines of pink scar tissue that made Rodney wince to look at. John's right index finger remained in a splint, and the webbing between his thumb still had a large strip of gauze wrapped around it. He raked his scarred fingers through his hair, pulling on it and making it stand even more on end.

"You're gonna lose it if you keep doing that," Rodney told him. When John looked back at him, confused, Rodney pointed at his own receding hairline.

John dropped his hand back to the table. "S...sorry."

Rodney shrugged. "Hey, it's your hair, just thought I'd mention it."

John began twining and twisting his fingers together in an odd, nervous gesture, as though he no longer knew what to do with his hands. "Where's Ronon and Teyla?" he asked without looking at Rodney.

"Doing their stick fighting thing," Rodney answered, seeing no point in mentioning that John had asked the same question twice already. The guy was finally talking in full sentences, so who was Rodney to dissuade him with mentions of forgetfulness? John nodded again, but his expression was troubled. His eyes drifted shut. He resumed the slow rocking and whispered something under his breath.

Rodney was about to call to him again, then realized that John's mutterings sounded Ancient. He leaned forward and grasped John's thin forearm. "Sheppard? What is it? What are you saying?" When John didn't respond to him, he nearly shouted his friend's name again.

"D-don't know..." John finally answered and tore his eyes open, his features pinched with confusion. "All m-mixed up. Don't know... it's... all messed up."

"What is?" Rodney said, curiosity momentarily overriding his concern for his friend. "Can you make some of that Ancient stuff out?"

John shook his head and pulled in a sharp breath. "No! All mixed up!"

"_What's_ all mixed up?" Rodney insisted.

"Everything..." John said, looking back down at the board. "M-me and _them..."_

Rodney stared at him, unsure what to make of that. "John... listen..." he began, then trailed off with absolutely no idea what to say or how to help.

John ignored him and with a shaking hand, resolutely picked up another chess piece and set it down in the wrong position. When he knocked over the surrounding pieces with the awkward splint, he yelled in wordless frustration. He swept the remaining pieces from the board. They clattered to the table, and Rodney quickly caught a few that nearly rolled onto the floor. Looking at his friend, Rodney couldn't help but think that the Daedalus was only five days away.

John pressed his lips tight together and darted a stricken glance at Rodney before fumbling to pick up the pieces from the table. "S-sorry..." he whispered, his voice trembling, "d-didn't mean to..." The pieces kept slipping from his grasp and dropping back to the table but he didn't give up trying.

Rodney took gentle but firm hold of John's wrist, stopping him. "Hey, it's okay. Let me get it."

John shook his head and yanked his hand free. "I _want_ to do it," he protested, setting his jaw in stubborn determination. He finally managed to grasp the pieces one by one and carefully began setting up the board again. He frowned, his hand trembling in mid-air when he couldn't remember their positions in the game.

Rodney couldn't stand it anymore. "You know, I'm not really in the mood for chess," he said, pulling a wry face. "Let's play something else. Checkers? Go Fish?"

"No," John said. "Start again."

"Sheppard, you _suck_ at chess even under normal circumstances—" Rodney lied. In truth, John beat Rodney two out of every six games – no small feat, considering Rodney's obviously superior intellect, and the fact he had been playing since he was two years old.

"Start a-_again!"_ John insisted, slapping his hand on the table.

"All right, fine!" Rodney raised his own hand in a placating gesture. He wondered why the hell he had even suggested this in the first place. "Let _me_ set it up though, or we're not playing anymore. Got it?" he added, pointing a warning finger at John.

Nodding, John took a deep breath and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trapping the nervous motion of his hands. When Rodney finished setting up the pieces, he realized that John was muttering to himself under his breath and shaking hard enough for Rodney to see the tremors from across the table.

"Sheppard?" Rodney waved his hand in front of John's face again, at the same time, readying to call Carson. "Still with me?"

John looked at him, and his eyes were bright with what took Rodney a moment to recognize as stark fear.

"D-don't want... go back," John whispered, shaking his head.

Rodney blinked at him. "Go back where?"

"Earth," John answered with a sneer, as though their home planet was the worst place imaginable. "N... not going back."

Rodney stared at him, his thoughts racing. There was no way Carson or Elizabeth would have told Sheppard of the possibility of being sent back home. Or would they? Even as anger filled him, Rodney tried to remain calm. "How... what makes you think—"

"Nurses. H-heard them... D-daedalus coming s-soon."

"Dammit..." Rodney made a mental note to find out those nurses' names and personally see to it that _they_ were the ones on the next trip back to Earth, not Sheppard.

"Not g-going back," John repeated in a tight, wavering voice, clenching his shaking hands into fists and placing them on the table.

"No, you're not," Rodney agreed, looking straight into John's now furious eyes. "Not if we can help it, so try and concentrate and pay attention to what we're doing," Rodney instructed, as though it were that simple. "I mean, just... just try to stay in the here and now, with me, and out of la-la land, all right?"

"All right..." John echoed in an uncertain whisper, his brows pulling together. Still distressed, he twined his hands again, fingernails plucking at the splint. Rodney reached over the table and placed his strong hand over John's slimmer ones.

"It's gonna be okay," Rodney said, giving John's damaged hands a quick squeeze before letting go. "You've come a long way since that rather frightening turnip impression of yours, and you _are_ getting better," he told his friend in a firm, confident voice, as reassurance for both of them. "You're going to be just fine in no time, and there's no way in _hell_ I'll let anyone send you back. So don't you worry about that anymore."

John stared at him wide-eyed and hopeful, as though Rodney was his personal salvation. Rodney held his gaze, surprised by the vehemence of his own words. He could only hope that in five day's time, he wouldn't be forced to go back on them.

"Okay," John said after a moment, straightening in his chair. For the first time in far too long, he smiled at Rodney in that lopsided smirk of his that was only slightly marred by the faint, but still visible tremors coursing through him.

Rodney returned the smile with a hopeful, crooked one of his own and started a new game by moving his King's pawn two spaces. John glanced at him then frowned at the board with such intense focus that Rodney feared he'd give himself an aneurysm. Finally, John made his opening move – the Dutch Defense. It was his usual opening counter-move – the aggressive, but weak one that Rodney always ragged him about. But this time, Rodney was glad to see it.

---A---

John wandered the darkened corridor, his slippers shushing along like the voices that still from time to time filled his head. Even as he thought of them, the voices started again, but they were quiet now, like whispers in the night that you couldn't quite make out. Light rain tapping on the windowpane instead of a howling maelstrom.

The damp cold of the floor seeped through his thin slippers. The air was too chilled for the light robe he had pulled on over his T-shirt and sweatpants. He didn't know why he had come down here. Maybe he'd just wanted to see it again. To see if it was real or if he'd just imagined it.

But as he kept walking, the city humming reassuringly all around him, he couldn't find Tosia's old lab. He knew it was down here somewhere in the lower levels, but he couldn't remember exactly where. He kept wanting to ask Rodney where Tosia was, if she was all right, but he was afraid of the answer, just like he was afraid to ask Carson if he truly planned to send John back on the Daedalus only two days from now. Pushing that terrible possibility from his mind, he remembered Tosia's tearful goodbye to him. He remembered what she'd told him, and how, back on that planet, she'd been the one presence he could hold onto and trust. He missed her. Maybe that's why he wanted to see her old lab again. Maybe later, he'd ask if he could go see her.

He'd been wandering aimlessly along endless corridors for too long now though. He was cold and tired, and he couldn't find the damn lab. He entered a room at random, stopped and looked around him. He was in a storage room, crates lining the walls and stacked to the high ceiling. The only light was a pale spotlight high above him, and the far end of the room was filled with indistinct, frightening shadows. The city hummed and hummed, and with a pang of unease, John realized that he was lost. The voices started to rise up, some of them screamed, as though recognizing his growing fear. Some of them even chortled at him: _Stupid, stupid John. Getting lost in your own city._

_Pathetic,_ as his father would have said.

John's heart began to race, his breaths rasped and echoed around him. Suddenly, he didn't want to see the lab anymore. He wanted to go back to the infirmary, to his own room. Anywhere familiar. He darted from the room and back into the corridor, pushing through one doorway after the other and he still couldn't find his way. The robe tangled around his legs, nearly tripping him, and he shrugged it off, throwing it to the floor. His slippers twisted under his feet and he kicked them away. He found another doorway and it obediently opened for him. He found himself in a dark, wide open space.

Then he saw the blue-tinged swirls of energy, flickering, pulsating, encapsulating. His eyes widened. His breath caught in his lungs and tight pain gripped his chest. Eyes fixed on the glowing, contained mass of energy, terror seized full hold of him, paralyzing him. The voices whispered on and on, the voices of the Ancients, those long dead souls. He saw the faces of those lost in battle, taken by the Wraith, by disease and hunger. Atlantis, bustling with life, with so many people, with children dressed in strange clothing running giggling through the corridors. Explosions, countless people screaming, torn, bloodied and begging, crying for help... Floating, weightlessness, all-seeing, a vast network of interconnected beings, power, so incredibly, terrifyingly powerful, grabbing hold of him, ripping at him—

His vision swam and there was a strange whimpering sound echoing around him and it took a moment until he realized it was coming from him.

_Calm down, John, You're okay. Don't listen to them._

Memories, so many memories... countless, endless memories, and he didn't know where his started and theirs ended. If he wasn't so scared, he'd try to flee but there was no place to where he could run. He swiped his arm over his face, wet with sweat and tears, and the clamor filling his head was enough to make him want to scream along with them.

_Dammit, John! Stop it!_ They can't hurt you! the familiar voice told him again. _They're just thoughts and old memories that don't belong to you. Look around you. You're okay. It's okay. Just __**look...**_

John hugged his arms to his chest and listened to the voice. He slowly looked around him. He was in one of the grounding stations, standing by a naquaada generator and in front of the two long tanks filled with bubbling, glowing blue and green liquid. It was just a power source, he realized. It was just the generator that powered the city, and it couldn't hurt him. He held his breath to silence its rasping sound, and he could hear the hum coming from the tanks, the hum of the very heart of the city.

Even still, the voices kept whispering, and John allowed his knees to buckle. He sat down hard on the cold floor and slid on his backside to lean against one of the tanks. It vibrated against his back, reassuring and warm. He listened to its hum. The sound reminded him of the ruins, and that, too, was strangely comforting. He closed his eyes, and he ignored the interminable flashes of endless, endless memories. He tried to calm down, tried to slow his rapid breaths.

_That's it. Don't pay attention to them anymore. Let them go._

He thought back as far as he could, searching for his own memories. It took a moment to focus, and then he remembered his tenth birthday – his parents had bought him a brand new, bright red BMX bike that he had trashed only a day later, riding it down 'Deadman's Hill.' He'd gone so fast, it felt like he was flying. He remembered letting go of the handlebars, holding his arms out like wings and for a moment, he _was_ flying. That was, until he'd reached the bottom of the hill and crashed into a parked car. He'd bent the bike's front wheel beyond repair, broken his left arm and chipped his front tooth in the process. He'd caught all kinds of hell for that, after all, bikes didn't grow on trees, as his dad reminded him.

He thought of his first date at thirteen with Lori... something. She'd let him slip his hand under her sweater as they made out in her bedroom – the Ramones playing at full volume.

Losing his virginity at fifteen with a seventeen-year-old German girl he'd met while his dad was stationed in Heidelberg. John had skipped school the day he'd met her to explore the city, and she'd been sitting outside a tiny, dingy coffee, shop. She was the prettiest girl he'd even seen, and he'd stopped, mesmerized by her. She'd only known three sentences of English to his five words of German, but somehow they'd managed.

His mother's funeral and the following reception that had ended with John and his father screaming at each other in front of horrified and appalled relatives. It was one of the worst days of John's life in a long list of terrifically crappy days.

He thought of the first time he'd flown a fighter jet and how he couldn't imagine doing anything else with his life.

His wedding day and how her side of the small town church had been completely filled, while John had invited only Mitch and Dex, forgoing a best man altogether. It was strange how 'till death do us part' had lasted only fourteen months.

The exile to the Antarctica that was like a strange sense of limbo, of being suspended in time so that nothing he did mattered anymore.

Then the first terrifying, amazing, incredible time he'd stepped through a Stargate. The first time he'd felt Atlantis's thrum through his veins. Like it had been waiting for him, like he had always belonged there.

All his... they were all his memories. His heart rate finally slowed to a more regular pace, and his chest didn't feel so tight anymore. The other voices faded into insignificance. He felt sorry for those lost souls. So much fear and pain, but none of it was his. They were long gone and he didn't have to listen to them anymore, didn't have to see them anymore. He took a deep, shaky breath and tried to hold onto the here and now. Just the city around him and the cold floor beneath him.

_That's it, _the familiar voice said._ You're okay, just let them go now. Stay put and wait for your team to come find you. They'll be here soon. You're okay._

And listening to that persistent, strong voice, John finally recognized it. The voice that had stayed with him all this time. That had helped him. He understood now why it was so familiar.

It was his own.

He smiled and dropped his head against the hard metal. He pulled up his legs, tucked his cold hands under his arms and waited for his team to come find him.

And some time later, they did. John woke from a light doze to the sound of muted footsteps. He heard Rodney lecturing someone then Ronon's deep grumbling protest. Teyla telling them to be quiet and concentrate on finding John.

John pulled himself up a little straighter and called out to them, but his voice came out in a hoarse rasp. He tried again with better success. "Over here!"

The footsteps quickened in pace, and John was surprised that Rodney reached him first. Rodney dropped to his knees in front of him, his blue eyes wide with concern.

"Sheppard?" he asked a little breathlessly as Teyla and Ronon crouched on either side of him.

"Hi..." John replied, shivering.

"You okay?" Rodney asked, looking him up and down for signs of injury. "How did you – what are you _doing_ down here...?"

"Got l-lost," John said, then couldn't help laughing a little at that. "C-couldn't find my way b-back…"

His team exchanged a nervous look over his head.

"It is all right, John," Teyla said, placing a hand on his shoulder. She frowned at how cold he was. "We should get you back to the infirmary—"

"I u-used to know this place like the b-back of m-my hand…" John tried to tell her through rattling teeth, through the weariness overcoming him.

"Yeah, well, evidently not so much anymore," Rodney snapped, but John knew that was just his friend's fear talking. "The infirmary bathroom is the first door to your left, you know."

John snorted, then rubbed his hand over his eyes that were still bleary from sleep. "I-I'll remember that... n-next time."

"Just don't do this again, okay?" Rodney said in a gentler tone. "You get the sudden urge to go exploring the city, ask Ronon to be your guide dog."

Ronon shot Rodney a look of mingled irritation and amusement, then looked at John. "You all right, Sheppard?"

John took a breath, and when he realized that his thoughts were still quiet, he nodded. "Can't hear them so much anymore," he said and smiled.

Rodney raised his eyebrows. "And that's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah…" John breathed out, "very good." He closed his eyes and was relieved to see nothing but the blue-green light shining through his lids. There was a gentle touch on his face and startled, he pulled his eyes open again. Teyla gently brushed her thumbs over his face, wiping away the nearly dried tear tracks. She took hold of his shoulders and lightly touched her forehead to his, in the tradition Athosian gesture. John bowed his head to hers, and then he found himself holding onto her, tightly, as though she and the rest of his team would disappear if he let go. Teyla seemed surprised, then enfolded him in her arms and held on just as tight.

"We have missed you, John," she said softly, tearfully. Ronon clasped firm hold of John's shoulder and kept his strong hand there, warm and reassuring. Rodney looked uncomfortable for a moment, then tentatively patted John's leg.

John kept hold of Teyla's slight frame, unable to let go just yet. It didn't matter that the floor was cool and damp beneath him, that the bare soles of his feet were cold numbed or that his tailbone ached from the hard floor. All that mattered was that he was finally home. He wanted to just sit here with his family close around him. He wanted to stay like this for a while longer.

* * *

---tbc---


	21. Chapter 21

I'm ba-aaack! Did you guys think I'd forgotten all about this story? So terribly sorry for yet another long delay, but I promise to post the following final two chapters within the next couple of days. Again, wow – totally chuffed by the wonderful reviews for the last chapter - again, you guys are awesome.

And here we go:

* * *

"All right, breathe in now," Carson said, leaning closer to John on the gurney and sliding the stethoscope around to his back.

John rolled his eyes, sat up a little straighter and took an exaggerated deep breath.

"Good... hold it a moment..." Carson said, all patient professionalism, "...now let it out."

John did as he was told, only wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. He took a few more deep breaths when instructed, swung his dangling legs and wished he could finally get back to some semblance of normalcy instead of this incessant fussing. Carson patted his shoulder, letting him know that he was done and stepped back to his tray of equipment. John tugged his T-shirt back down. When Carson reached for a sphygmomanometer, John held out his arm without prompting. He knew the drill all too well. He waited until the doctor read the result and unraveled the blood pressure cuff from his arm before impatience finally won out.

"Well?" John said, giving the doctor a hopeful look.

"You're doing very well," Carson answered, "remarkably well, in fact, but you know that I'm not clearing you for active duty or any gate travel for at least another two weeks. And we're not quite finished here yet." Carson reached for a thermometer and taking hold of John's chin, he placed the thermometer in his ear.

Sighing in resignation and pretending to mull over Carson's expected verdict a moment, John waited until the thermometer beeped before speaking again. "But I wouldn't have to go through a gate... or-or be... cleared for a-active duty to go to the mainland, w-would I?" he asked in what was meant to be an off-hand manner, but the effect was marred by the damned, intermittent stammering he hadn't quite managed to shake.

"Theoretically, no," Carson said, turning his back to rearrange his equipment. "But—"

"And I wouldn't... have to g-go through a... a gate to go to that planet, either, and it's _almost_ as close," John added with a shrug.

"And which planet would that be now?" Carson inquired with equal casualness and without looking at him, but John could tell the doctor knew full well what he'd meant.

"Tosia's planet," John replied anyway, looking down at his scuffed boots. "I... I was just thinking... McKay is h-heading back there in two days with Lorne and his team..."

"Are ye tryin' to say you'd like to go along with them, John?" Carson said, turning back to him.

"Yeah, I would," John said, flashing Carson a happy grin, "thanks, doc!'

"Hold on." Carson held up a hand, shaking his head. "Just wait a minute now, I never said—"

"Oh, come on, Carson," John broke in. "It's barely a half hour trip in a jumper, and I... w-wouldn't even be flying, and i-it's not like I'll do anything strenuous." He was aware that he was starting to sound like a kid begging his mom to stay up a few hours late, but right now, he didn't care.

"I understand that you're anxious to see Tosia again," Carson said gently, "but you've been through a lot, lad, and you're still on some pretty strong medication."

"Which is m-making me totally zombified, you know," John informed Carson, scrunching his face with displeasure. What he didn't tell the doctor was that he'd been palming his medication as much as he could get away with. It wasn't a great tradeoff, but he found that he preferred the odd flashes of anxiety and dissociation to feeling as though he were sleepwalking through mud.

"John, we have to take you off the meds slowly," Carson reminded him. "Trust me, you _are_ well on the road to recover, it's just gonna take a little more time to—"

"But I'm fine, _now," _John protested, "completely one h-hundred percent."

But the truth was, if John were to be completely honest with himself, it was more like seventy or eighty percent – on a good day. At least he'd finally been released from the infirmary and back in his own quarters for over a week now. He was glad of that. It made it easier to hide the nightmares that had started up on the second night and hadn't let up since. He'd wake with a jolt, screaming in terror, or calling out some stranger's name, drenched in sweat and shaking from head to foot. He could never even remember what he'd dreamt, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Some of those nights, he was able to go back to sleep. Most other nights, however, he'd remain wide-awake, hyped-up, adrenaline and unspent energy coursing through his veins. He wished he could wander the city on nights like those, or go for a run in the silent, empty corridors and wear himself out, like he used to do back when everything was normal and he couldn't sleep.

But now... he knew his insomnia would only tip off everyone to the fact that he wasn't doing quite as well as he was pretending, and so he'd ride out those long nights alone. He'd try to read, watch movies on his laptop that he'd seen far too many times to count, or play mindless video games until his fingers ached. He'd do anything but allow himself to think too much, because if he did, he knew he'd hear echoes of the Ancients' voices and see glimpses of their old memories again. They would never be completely gone, he'd come to realize – an understanding that he had no intention of sharing with anyone. Those memories were simply a part of him now, just like his own memories and experiences were. He could only hope that in time, those alien memories, like old childhood ones, or the more difficult ones you forced yourself not to dwell on too much, would begin to fade into insignificance.

He'd been doing his best to keep it together, and most of the time, he thought he was succeeding. Other times though, he'd still 'zone out,' as Rodney called it, completely losing his train of thought, or helplessly stammering in mid-sentence, as though a part of his brain was momentarily short-circuiting. John liked to blame those lapses on the damn drugs that Carson and Dr. Heightmeyer insisted he keep taking, but more likely, his mind was still having trouble sorting through everything.

In a show of good faith, John had even agreed to daily, one-hour sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer, as unnecessary and ridiculous as it seemed to him. After all, it wasn't as though he'd flipped out or anything. Based on Rodney's theory on the portal, John reasoned that he'd simply had so much information dumped in his head that he'd just gotten lost in the midst of it all. Anyone would be a little messed up after something like that. Or at least that was what John told himself. Anything more complicated or rooted in clinical psychosis was something he wasn't willing to contemplate.

After all, he had come so terrifyingly close to being shipped back home. If that had happened, John could have kissed his military career and chance of ever flying again goodbye. Shooting him would have been more merciful.

Those sessions with the psychologist went by quickly though, and John found himself telling Heightmeyer about all kinds of stupid stuff. Such things as the fact that he'd moved around so much as a kid, that he'd lost count of how many different schools he'd attended, and then along with his own pseudo-nomadic existence, he therefore had trouble forming lasting attachments. Consequently, it made it difficult for him to open up to people, but he was working on that. He'd discovered a long time ago how that little bit of self-analysis was always a good one for shrinks to play with.

He also told the doctor all about his messed up relationships and his foiled attempt at marriage. He even told her how his wife had suddenly lost it on him one night. _Talk to me! Tell me _something! she'd tearfully screamed at him, punching him hard in the chest to get his attention. She'd then shouted a lot of other things that John wasn't going to repeat in front of a lady and a shrink, but he remembered how he had just sat there on the couch and took it, scared and stunned by her outburst and unable to speak a single word. When they eventually signed their divorce papers, she wished him well and told him it was a shame that even though they'd been together for almost two years, she had never really know him at all. John had found himself both saddened and perplexed by the whole thing. Up until that night and the night shortly thereafter when she'd walked out on him, he had thought they were doing just fine.

And yesterday, John had somehow come around to the subject of his slight problem with authority, and he didn't have to tell Heightmeyer much about his father for both of them to surmise where that little hang-up came from. But he assured her that he was working on that, too. After all, everyone had their relatively normal issues to deal with, didn't they?

John told her anything but what he'd most recently been through. Heightmeyer, at least, seemed pleased with John's sudden ability to get in touch with his feelings. And maybe that was the whole point of the sessions, anyway. To determine if he was all there. Being John C. Sheppard again, in all his usual messed up glory. And maybe John told her about those past mistakes and regrets that he normally wouldn't speak of, even under the threat of dire torture, for that very same reason. Maybe he'd needed to prove it to himself, too.

With a start, he realized that Carson was calling his name and looking at him worriedly. Cursing under his breath, John forced his thoughts back to the here and now. _Dammit, John, pull yourself together, _he angrily told himself. _You keep this up, they _will_ ship you back, you idiot._

He forced himself to look into the concerned eyes of his doctor and friend. "Sorry... I – I was just thinking..." John quickly said, his heart suddenly racing. "A-about stuff. I mean, I wasn't... I'm _okay."_

"It's all right, John," Carson said in a soft voice. He patted John's arm in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but it only served to make John wonder just _how_ messed up he appeared to everyone. "You don't have to apologize or be explainin' yourself," Carson continued. "You've been through a terrible ordeal, so give yourself a break, lad. Take it slowly."

"If I take it any more slowly, I'll be comatose," John grumbled. At the same time, the doctor's reassurances were beginning to take hold, and John bolstered his confidence to persevere with what he'd planned to talk to Carson about in the first place. "Now... about going to that planet... It _would_ help take my mind off things, you know," he began.

"John, in a couple of weeks," Carson said with quiet patience, "you should be fit for some light duty. _Then_ you can go to the planet and have a visit with Tosia, all right?"

John stubbornly shook his head and decided that it was time to stop hedging and just admit the real reason he needed to go to that planet so badly. "Look, doc..." he paused, then took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "Rodney t-told me that Tosia's not doing so good, and I... I mean, she saved my _life._ S-she went up against her own people to protect me, and... and I need to properly thank her f-for that... and I n-need to do that before..." He trailed off, unwilling to say the rest. "She doesn't have a lot of time left… does she?" he said quietly.

Carson met John's gaze, his expression downcast. "No, she doesn't." The doctor sighed. He tucked his hands in his coat pockets and looked down at the floor for a moment. He seemed to come to a decision and gave John a stern, no-nonsense look. "All right. On two conditions – you take it slow, and you don't forget to take your medication. And, you come straight back here afterwards."

John grinned, both surprised and grateful. "Deal. That's three conditions, though."

Carson eyed him. "Don't push yer luck, lad."

"Sorry," John said and tried to look contrite.

"I don't like this, but I do understand the reasoning," Carson said. "And I think she'd be thrilled to see you."

_"Who_ would be thrilled to see _him?"_ Rodney's voice came from behind the curtain.

"Lots of people!" John shot back. He rolled his eyes at Carson and shook his head in irritation. Rodney had been John's constant shadow of late, and while he appreciated his friend's concern, John was finding that he'd had enough of this guy bonding stuff already.

"Oh yeah?" Rodney countered. "Name _one."_

"I could name a _lot,"_ John drawled as he hopped down from the gurney and tucked his shirt back in his pants, "b-but I've never been one to… to kiss and tell."

"Oh, har har," Rodney said. Carson sighed and pushed back the curtain. Rodney took that as invitation to step up to the gurney and lean against it, crossing one foot over the other.

"How long were you standing out there, anyway?" John said, eyeing Rodney suspiciously.

"What?" Rodney blinked at him. "I just got here." He directed his attention to the doctor. "So, Carson, what's the verdict?" He jerked his thumb in John's direction. "How much longer do I have to actually be nice to him?"

"The verdict is," John answered even as Carson opened his mouth. "We're going to Tosia's planet on Thursday."

"What?" Rodney looked back and forth from John to Carson. "We are? He _is?_ You're not seriously letting him fly a jumper, are you?"

"Rodney—" Carson began.

"I mean, _seriously,_ Carson," Rodney continued undeterred. "He still has these loopy moments that remind me of my old college roommate, Brent, who smoked so much pot that he sometimes couldn't remember his own name – mind you, when he was stoned out of mind, he'd come up with the most amazing theories. There was this one—"

"McKay!" John broke in. "While th-this is all very fascinating stuff, I... I _can_ fly a jumper practically in my _sleep."_

"You _have_ flown a jumper practically in your sleep," Rodney amended.

"See?" John said, shrugging. "What's the w-worst that can happen?"

"Uh, since the jumpers respond to your every thought, let's see, you zone out, and we crash and die?"

"Besides that," John said.

"What's worse than _that?"_

John shot Rodney a frustrated look, momentarily at a loss for a rebuttal.

"All right, both of ye shut up now," Carson said, finally getting a chance to speak. "Rodney, I cleared John to go along with you and Lorne's team, but he is _not_ flyin' the jumper."

Rodney nodded and looked smug. "Good. Don't take anti-psychotics and fly, has always been my motto, even if fly-boy over there doesn't subscribe to that same notion. He's always been far too over-confident for his own good."

"Hey!" John piped up, waving his hands. "You know,_ he_ is standing right in f-front of you. A-and you... you guys may have forgotten this fact, but _he's_ not completely nuts anymore. _He_ can actually hear you."

Rodney blinked, then glared at him. "That's not funny."

John shrugged. "It was a _little_ funny."

"Oh, yeah, seeing you looking like Jack Nicholson _after_ his lobotomy in _Cuckoo's Nest_ was a laugh a minute."

"I thought I was more like a... a turnip," John said, raising an eyebrow. "Or w-was it a potato?"

Rodney stared at him, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh, god... you remember that? I didn't mean that... you know I don't mean half the stupid stuff I say..." he rambled, waving his hands, and John had to stifle a mean-spirited laugh at his friend's discomfiture. "And... and you shouldn't joke about that either!" Rodney added in an accusatory tone.

"McKay..." John waited until he had his friend's full attention. "Relax. Sometimes… life is too crappy _not_ to joke about it."

Rodney mulled that over a moment, then had to nod in agreement. "How much _do_ you remember anyway?"

"I… I can remember a lot of what happened… then," John answered, feeling he owed Rodney that much, but at the same time, he found it hard to look at his friend while he spoke, and so he stared down at his boots. "A lot of the time... I c-could hear all of you. Only it was like you... you were all too far away for me to reach you. Some of it..." John paused, trying to sort out what he wanted to say. Some of it he couldn't quite figure out – what had been real and what was all in his mind and only _their_ memories. "Some of it, n-not so much," he finally said, and that was also as much as he was willing to admit.

Carson nodded. "It's not uncommon for someone in a catatonic state to be aware of what is goin' on around them."

John looked at Carson, surprised at that. "Well, that m-makes me feel a little better," he said, trying for a smirk and some levity. "I… i-it's just that... I can remember a lot of what happened back there, on that planet, and I just... I need to go there and see it again."

Rodney looked at him, his expression surprisingly empathetic. "Well... prepare to be disappointed," he said after a moment. "The place is colder than a... well, let's just say it's too damned cold. Tosia's a bit of a pain in the ass, too—"

Carson snorted. "Ach, don't be listenin' to him, John," he interrupted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Rodney's never got on so well with anyone in his life. The old girl had him sussed out and wrapped around her little finger in about—"

"Hey!" Rodney almost shouted, glaring at the doctor. "I was _humoring_ her, all right? She's old and... and she's sick, and even _I_ can find it in myself to be nice to little old ladies. Especially one who's a former Ascended Ancient and willing to share information."

John raised a skeptical eyebrow at Rodney and crossed his arms over his chest. "You? Nice?"

Rodney shook his head. "Oh, here we go," he muttered under his breath.

"Now _this_ I really gotta s-see," John said, smirking and enjoying this immensely. "Wow… Rodney actually being _nice_ to people... Who w-would'a thought..."

"And I think I liked you better catatonic," Rodney shot back. "You were a _lot_ quieter."

_"Now_ who's m-making inappropriate jokes?" John said, clutching his hand over his heart in mock injury.

"You walked _right_ into that one, bucko," Rodney said, unperturbed.

"Bucko?" John echoed incredulously. Carson watched the exchange, then grinned widely at the two of them. John and Rodney looked at the doctor, puzzled. "What?" John said, frowning, the corner of his mouth inadvertently twitching with a grin of his own.

"Just never thought I'd be glad to hear the two of ye bickering like an old married couple again," Carson said, with a shrug. Then grabbing John's arm and Rodney's sleeve in a surprisingly strong grip, he gave them both a shove toward the infirmary door. "Now, out!" Carson said in his stern doctor voice. "I have other, less bothersome patients to attend to."

* * *

--tbc--


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters belong to their respective owners, not to me.

* * *

John sat beside Rodney on the long bench in the back of the jumper. He hated this. He hated sitting back here. Lieutenant Dawson and Doctor Reiger were across from them, trying without much success to pretend that they weren't listening to John and Rodney's spurts of conversation.

"How many v-villagers are we transporting again?" John asked Rodney, more to prevent himself from striding to the cockpit and shoving Lorne from the pilot's seat than from any genuine interest in the actual numbers.

"All of sixteen," Rodney snorted. "Let's just hope that I can put on as impressive a demonstration for the villagers as the last time and convince a few more of them to hop on the bandwagon. Of course, the big challenge is to keep the other villagers from going completely ballistic when the Daedalus beams the group up. I can just picture that Silas idiot now: 'Augh! They've been vaporized! Ha! I told you! I _told_ you not to listen to them!'" Rodney mimed in a surprisingly good imitation of Silas's belligerent manner and grating voice that John, unfortunately, remembered all too clearly.

"Well, w-we can always lock Silas in a closet for a while and… and let the villagers talk to their people on the ship by radio," John shrugged. _"That_ should help set their minds at ease a little?"

Rodney shot John his annoying _oh, please_ look. "Yeah, right. Some of them will just think that we trapped them in these things," Rodney said while tapping his own radio.

"McKay, they're primitive, b-but they're not _stupid."_

"Compared to _me_ they are," Rodney said, "but then again, so is everyone."

John was about to smack Rodney upside the head for that and then he noticed that his friend was barely suppressing a grin. "Very funny," John said, shooting Rodney a mock scathing look. He knew what Rodney was trying to do, though – keep him as distracted as possible, and John found himself surprisingly grateful for that.

When the jumper rocked and shuddered through the shield enveloping the planet, John winced and had to force himself not to push Lorne away from the helm, after all. John knew that he would have been able to take her through in a smooth arc, with hardly a jolt. It was just like riding out a thunderstorm. You couldn't fight it – you just went with it.

"You all right?" Rodney asked, leaning forward to peer at him.

"Yeah, fine," John answered through gritted teeth. "Why?"

"Well, you're grinding your teeth and sitting on your hands," Rodney pointed out. "A little tense, perhaps?"

"I am _not," _John said, then looked down at his legs. Sure enough, he had tucked his hands under his thighs, trapping them. He realized that his jaw ached. He pulled his hands free and rubbed them on the tops of his legs to renew the circulation in his fingers. "Doc should'a l-let _me_ fly."

"I think we covered this already, didn't we?" Rodney gave John a long-suffering look.

John had to put his hands down on the seat to steady himself against another rough jolt. "Even _drunk_ I can f-fly better th-than that," he muttered and scowled.

"Oh, stop whining and pouting already," Rodney said, rolling his eyes. "It's hardly endearing and we're almost there."

John sat up straighter at that and indignantly folded his arms over his chest. "I do_ not_ whine."

"Oh, really?" Rodney said. "What do you think _that_ just was?"

John blinked at Rodney, then realized that maybe he _had_ been bitching a little, but still... He winced at another jolt and without thinking, tucked his hands under his legs again and started reciting football stats in his head.

"And here we are," Lorne called from the front, and John let out a sigh of relief when he felt the jumper touch ground a moment later. The team gathered their gear and John hung back a little, feeling suddenly, inexplicably nervous. Rodney seemed to sense John's unease and took his time pulling on his pack, then his gloves, woolen hat and adjusting his coat. He waited until John took the first step toward the hatch then followed close behind him.

They'd landed just outside the ruins; the ship uncloaked now that the people were becoming used to them. A group of children ran up to the ship, greeting Lorne, his team and Rodney as though they were old friends. As the team made its way into the village itself, some of the people came out of their homes, crowding around them. John thought he recognized a few of the faces. The villagers stared openly at him, with undisguised wariness. John was tempted to break into an impromptu tap-dance just to see how they'd react. Instead, he ambled beside Rodney, offering the villagers a faint smile and a casual tip of his head. Looking around, he wondered if Silas and his merry men were around, but they were nowhere to be seen. That was probably a good thing.

"Okay, all right!" Rodney called out suddenly and none too gently shoving his way through the crowd. "Got things to do, other people to see. Move along now," he said loudly, waving his hand in a shooing gesture.

John followed the path that Rodney cleared for them, finding their sudden role reversal odd and more than a little disconcerting. At the same time, he was grateful for Rodney's familiarity with the place. To John, everything seemed familiar and not familiar. Like some place he'd only seen in a half-remembered dream. The small huts, the deep snow, the stretch of cliffs in the distance, the faces of the villagers that would not stop staring at him. Despite his uncharacteristic self-consciousness, John met their gazes full-on and kept walking behind Rodney, tracing the other man's footsteps in the deep snow.

"Marcy Larson!" Rodney suddenly blurted and stopped so abruptly that John plowed into his back, his hat falling off and landing on the soft snow.

"_What?"_ John shook his head in utter confusion and stooped to retrieve his hat.

"The ex-girlfriend from Drumheller," Rodney said, as though that explained everything.

John blinked at him. "And I th-thought _I_ was the one who w-was nuts." He shook the snow from the hat and put it back on before his ears froze off. Rodney hadn't been kidding when he'd said it was too damned cold here.

Rodney stared at him, then shook his head. "No, no... I dated this girl from Drumheller and this place just reminds me of it, and I couldn't remember her name and it was bugging the _crap_ out of me—"

"You actually dated someone n-named _Marcy?"_ John said, scrunching his face, tugging his hat lower on his forehead.

Rodney looked at him. "Yeah. So? I mean..." He looked at John suspiciously. "What's wrong with Marcy?"

John shrugged. "Just… never m-met anybody named Marcy before. Wasn't there a-a Marcy in those Snoopy comics?"

"You read Peanuts comics?"

"Sure," John shrugged again. "Wh-when I… was a kid. Didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, right alongside finishing my first thesis."

John shot him a look. "Which is why y-you got beat up every day."

"No, I only got beat up every _other_ day," Rodney corrected, raising a gloved finger, his breath misting in a cloud around him. "And I can just image where those Neanderthals are now," he said as he continued walking, "probably pumping gas, or calling a cardboard box home."

They headed for a small hut set a little apart from the others. It was tiny but well tended, with a long, rough-hewn fence leading to a small barn. John recognized this place – it had been home to him for close to a month. Tosia's place. He paused to stand back and look at it. He didn't remember it being this small.

The front door opened, and a young man, who made Ronon seem small-built, burst outside with a huge grin. "You're back early, Rodney!" the man exclaimed happily, then his gaze fell on John. His smile faltered a moment with surprise then widened again.

"Hey, Antal," John said, unable to help a grin of his own, recognizing him almost instantly.

"John!" Antal shouted with glee then rushed at him. John instinctively took a few steps back, worried he'd get bowled over but Antal quickly caught him in an embrace strong enough to steal the breath from John's lungs and lift him off his feet. Antal set him back down again so abruptly that John nearly lost his footing and his hat fell off again. Antal grabbed him by the shoulders, inadvertently steadying him and grinning hugely. "You came back!"

"Yeah," John gasped and held a hand to his ribs, but couldn't keep the matching grin from his face. "Kinda wanted to s-see you… guys again."

Antal stared at him. "You sound different, John."

"That's b-because I'm better now," John told him. "Thanks to you and your family."

Antal gave him a skeptical look. "We didn't do anything to make you better like that."

"Yes, you _did,"_ John corrected. "You, Lasca and Tosia… h-helped me a _lot_. I owe you all one."

"One what?" Antal said, frowning.

"A favor," John explained. "Sort of… a-a way of saying thank you."

"Oh, all right," Antal said, nodding in understanding, then tilted his head. "You don't have to, but the other Atlanteans gave us presents and things like that."

John laughed at that. "I think I can take care of that in a minute." He stooped to retrieve his hat again then tried to see inside the open doorway of the hut, but it was too dark. He could hear the voices of those inside though – quite a few of them, in fact. "Are Tosia and Lasca inside?" he asked Antal.

Antal nodded. "Wanna see them?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed John's arm, just above the elbow, and began half-leading, half-dragging him to the door in a motion that felt strangely familiar.

Rodney smirked at him and followed a moment later, wanting to give John a moment alone with his surrogate family of sorts.

Stepping over the threshold of the hut, it took a moment for John's eyes to adjust from the bright white of outside to the dim grays and browns of the interior. Four people that John didn't recognize – two middle-aged women, a young girl and a man in his early twenties – were sitting at the small table in front of the crackling, warm hearth. They turned to stare at him, but John didn't pay them any mind. Instead, his gaze fell on a woman in her mid-forties with long, wildly curly grayish-brown hair. She turned from the chopping block where she was cutting up some sort of squash-like vegetable and her eyes widened at the sight of him. Lasca, John realized and offered her a shy smile.

"John!" she gasped, unwittingly echoing her son. The remainder of the vegetable dropped from her fingers and onto the floor.

"Hi," John said, unsure how she'd react to him. "I... uh... hope you don't mind—"

Lasca stared at him then her face broke out into a smile, transforming her plain features into radiance. "Mind? How could I..." She stepped close to him and pulled him into a welcoming hug. He returned her embrace a little tentatively and found it both strange and wonderful how these people had come to care so much about him, even when he'd been so far beyond himself. So lost and so helpless. She pulled back but kept her hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "You... I can't believe all this. You seem so..." she shook her head, at a loss for words.

"Normal?" John offered, tilting his head.

"Well, yes..." she said with a laugh, "but I meant to say that you look well. Very well."

"Yeah, I'm okay n-now," John agreed. "Thank you."

"No, we should be thanking _you_," she corrected. "Your people have done so much for us already."

"John brought us presents, too," Antal piped up.

Lasca turned to her son. "Antal, hush," she reprimanded.

"No, it's okay," John quickly said when Antal blushed and looked down at his boots. John set his pack on the floor, unzipped it and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. He handed Antal a package wrapped in old newspaper – the closest thing he could find to wrapping paper and clumsily tied with a big foil ribbon left over from Christmas.

Antal stared at it mesmerized. "Thank you," he whispered.

John watched him expectantly, but Antal just cradled the gift carefully in his hands, as though it were made from spun glass. "Open it," John urged, waving his hand.

Antal blinked at him. "Oh..." He very carefully untied the ribbon, folded back the newspaper, pausing to marvel over the car and house photos printed on it. He finally pulled all the paper to free to reveal an egg-sized amethyst geode. It was just an abandoned paperweight that John had found in one of scientist's offices in the city, but he remembered Antal's treasures from the ruins and thought that the young man might like to have it. John's guess was proven correct when Antal gasped at the sight of it, his eyes shining.

"Where did you find this?" he nearly whispered.

"Well, b-back on my home world… there's l-lots of rocks like that," John explained. "There's lots of th-them on the mainland, too. When you go there, m…maybe I can show you some."

Antal nodded, beaming at him.

"John..." Lasca said, then shook her head.

John turned to look at her questioningly.

"Antal and I are not going to the mainland," she said.

John then remembered that Lasca had refused to even consider the idea of relocating. He was about to apologize for mentioning it, but then Rodney broke in, surprising him. He'd almost forgotten about him.

"So, Lasca," Rodney said as he ruffled his matted-down hair, unzipped his jacket and took it off. "Having a little party?" In a none too subtle change of subject, he gestured to the people at the table and the two figures he could make out through the open door to Tosia's bedroom.

"These are some of the people going to the mainland," Lasca explained. "This is Daria and her husband, Josef." She then introduced the two women – one the girl's mother and the other, the young man's aunt and Urvan's wife. "Kornel and Urvan are discussing a few things with Tosia." Lasca turned to look at John and speaking in a low voice, she said, "Why don't you and Rodney go in and say hello to her? I am sure she is growing weary of their conversation. They have been in there for almost an hour."

Rodney shook his head and waved his hand in John's direction. "Why don't you go say hi to her first? I know she's pretty sick of me, too." He stepped up to the roaring hearth and held his hands out, warming them. Antal followed him, proudly show Rodney his gift.

John watched them a moment then took off his own jacket and hung it on the hook beside the row of cloaks. Turning back to the open bedroom door, he found that he had to work himself up to stepping into that room, feeling inexplicably self-conscious again.

Lasca noticed his unease and gently took his arm. "Come, John..." she said. "I know that she will be so very happy to see you. I do not think she expected to see you again."

Lasca led him inside the tiny bedroom, and John paused just inside the doorway. Unnoticed by the occupants in the room, he glanced over the two men sitting beside a narrow bed piled with so many blankets that it took a moment until John saw her. The long, thick, silver hair that he remembered so clearly. He didn't remember her being so tiny, though. She'd always seemed stronger, imposing, almost. Her eyes were so sunken that from a distance, they were only deep shadows in her face. John just stood there in the doorway, unable to move closer.

Then Tosia's gaze fell on him. She slid up in the bed. Lasca immediately went to her mother's side and helped prop her further up with the pillows.

"Look, mother," Lasca said, smiling and gently smoothing Tosia's hair back. "Look who came to see you."

Tosia blinked and frowned at John then looked back to Lasca for confirmation. John pinched his lips and took a few hesitant steps closer. "Hi, Tosia," he said quietly.

"John?" Tosia said in a soft, disbelieving whisper.

"Yeah," he said. Her face broke out into a joyous smile and the two men, Kornel and Urvan, stared at him in equal amazement.

"John." Tosia said this again as affirmation, then held her hands out to him. "Come closer. I know I look terrible, but I promise that I am harmless."

John returned her smile then stepped to the far side of the bed, opposite the two men and took her hands carefully in his own. She squeezed his fingers, her hands trembling. Looking to Kornel and Urvan, she waved her hand toward the door in a dismissive gesture oddly reminiscent of Rodney.

"Leave us now," she said to them. "John and I have much to catch up on. Alone." With that, she turned back to John as the men stood to leave and began to shuffle from the room.

After Kornel stepped outside, Urvan paused, waiting until John looked at him. "I am very glad that you are all right," Urvan said, his face flushing red with either shame or bashfulness, John wasn't certain which. John frowned, then nodded in acknowledgement, and Urvan seemed relieved by that. He ducked his head and left the room. Lasca followed him a moment later, pulling the door almost shut behind her.

John stood hesitant beside the bed, at a complete loss for words. Tosia looked up at him, her eyes bright with joyful tears. She released one of his hands and patted the narrow space beside her. "Come, sit down, John."

He obeyed, perching beside her. She took hold of his hands again, studying them. All the bandages were gone now, revealing the long, ugly scar on his right hand. Tosia traced the line with her fingertip.

"I had heard from the other Atlanteans that you were better, but this... it is wonderful to see you again," she said quietly, looking into his eyes.

"You, too." John looked down and smiled shyly. "I... I w-wanted to come see you… b-because... there was so much that I wanted to say to you, and now... now I don't know _what_ to say." Still unable to look at her, he laughed a little then shrugged. "Guess you're… kinda used t-to that from me, though."

Tosia chuckled and squeezed his hands tighter. "You don't have to say anything, John," she reassured him, still smiling. "Thank you for coming to see me," she said after a moment. "I could not ask for a better gift."

John met her gaze at that. "Oh... wait... now _that's_ w-what I wanted to say." He slapped himself lightly on the forehead. "I wanted to thank _you._ For t-taking care of me. For saving my life. For... for everything." He looked down when he felt a shameful prickling behind his eyes and his throat tightened.

"John," Tosia said softly but firmly. "Look at me."

He remembered that, too. Those very same words, reaching out to him when he'd been so afraid and so terribly lost. She'd always been able to reach him no matter how far away he was, no matter how deeply the Ancients' pulled him under. How did you thank someone for that, he wondered. How was it even possible to express proper gratitude for something like that? It took a moment, but he raised his eyes to hers, and he found that he didn't care if she saw any signs of threatening tears.

"You have nothing to thank me for," Tosia said, reaching up to pat his cheek. "There are no debts between friends, so let us not speak of that anymore. Let us enjoy this time we have together and get to know one another properly," she told him. Then tilting her head speculatively, she looked him up and down in mock appraisal. "I had often wondered what sort of man you had been... before I found you here."

"Uh-oh," John said and winced. "Probably a little disappointed, huh?"

Tosia shook her head. "You are _exactly_ as I imagined you," she said with a satisfied smile.

"And that's... good?" John said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, that's _very_ good."

"Whew," John said, swiping his hand over his brow, making her chuckle.

"Hey, hate to break up the party," Rodney said from behind the door then pushed it open. "But I'm... breaking up the party."

"Rodney," Tosia said, offering him another happy smile. "I was hoping you had come along, as well."

Rodney shrugged. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta watch out for Ancient-boy here."

John narrowed his eyes at Rodney in his most dangerous expression. _"Don't_ call me that. Ever."

The look was completely lost on Rodney, who had never been scared of John in the slightest, anyway. "So, Tosia," Rodney said, purposefully ignoring John and stepping close beside Tosia's bed. "How are you feeling?" He said this with such gentle concern that John looked at his friend in surprise.

"I am much better now that you both are here," Tosia said.

"Yeah, well, I have that sort of effect on people," Rodney smirked as he slouched down in one of the chairs beside the bed. "So… looks like everyone's all set to go, and the Daedalus…" he stole a quick glance at his watch, "…should be here in oh... about an hour. It's almost time to round everyone up. You explained to Kornel what will happen when the group gets beamed aboard, right?"

Tosia nodded. "I have not witnessed this Asgard technology in a long time, but I assured all of my people that there is nothing to fear. Kornel will assure them once more before it is time."

"So... all this work, and only sixteen have come around," Rodney said, sighing in frustration and rubbing a hand through his hair.

"And sixteen people will have better lives because of this," Tosia said. "And that is something."

"Yes, it _is,"_ John agreed. "S-some of them may even change their minds later. It's not like we're that far away if they do."

Rodney nodded. "I talked to Kornel outside again, and he'll be quite the cheering squad. He's absolutely _raving_ about the mainland. I think he even wants to take up surfing."

Tosia smiled tiredly at both of them. After a moment, she looked to Rodney. "Do you remember what I asked you... about Lasca and Antal?"

Rodney nodded and held up a hand in a scout's honor gesture. "Consider it taken care of."

"We'll take good care of them, Tosia," John added quietly. Rodney had told him of the promise he'd made, and John was determined to help carry it through.

Tosia squeezed John's hand again and kept hold of it in a trembling, but firm grip. "I know you will." Her eyelids were heavy, her voice fragile and weak, but she had a quiet serenity about her. The kind of calm acceptance that John recognized from watching far too many people he cared about die.

"Well," Rodney said, moving to stand up. "No rest for the wicked and all that. The Beam Me up Scotty Show will be starting all too soon. Antal said that a lot of people are already waiting in the village square." He looked at John. "We should probably head over there soon, too."

John noticed the look of disappointment that fell on Tosia's face. "I'll stay here if you guys want to go ahead," he told his friend, looking back to the old woman. "Tosia and I have a lot to catch up on."

Rodney looked at Tosia and at the tight grip she kept on John's hand, then nodded. She reached for Rodney with her free hand.

"Thank you again, Rodney," she said, smiling at him, grasping his fingers. "It has been wonderful to see you, as well. I have missed our conversations."

"Yeah, me, too," Rodney said in a soft voice, giving her a crooked smile of his own. "It's too bad you can't come see this, but I'll tell you all about it later. I also have a question about a certain theory of yours that I found in your database yesterday."

Tosia nodded. "I look forward to that."

Patting her hand awkwardly, Rodney set it back down on the bed with careful precision, as though afraid she'd break. He looked up at both of them, then pointed at John. "Right, and you two behave yourselves now. I should actually warn you, Tosia, Sheppard has a huge thing for Ascended women. It's a little… disturbing, actually."

Tosia cackled and shot John a far from innocent look. "I assure you, Rodney, I can take care of myself around such handsome men as yourselves."

"Yeah, you sure can," Rodney agreed with a grin. "Bye, Tosia," he said, his expression becoming both somber and full affection.

"Goodbye, Rodney," Tosia said, and with that he stepped from the room. Through the open door, Tosia watched Rodney with equal tenderness as he put on his coat and winter gear.

"You know… he's not u-usually like that," John said.

"Like what?" Tosia asked, looking back at him.

"Nice," John said. "You s-seem to h-have made _quite_ the impression on him."

Tosia smirked at that. "I have become quite fond of him myself. Rodney has a kind heart and gentle spirit, though he tries very hard to hide the fact."

Lasca came in then and placed a fresh jug of water on the small table by the bed. She fussed over Tosia, rearranging her blankets and pillows. Tosia tolerated it for a moment then all but ordered Lasca and Antal to go along with Rodney and give her a moment's peace. Lasca looked a little hurt, but nodded and finally left them alone.

When they heard the thud of the front door shutting and Antal's excited voice echoing outside, Tosia leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes for a moment. The small hut filled with silence.

John looked around the tiny room, and noticed the rumpled National Geographic magazine on the table. "Hey, I didn't know they delivered this far," he said, picking it up.

"I confess that I found it too intriguing to resist," Tosia said, smiling almost sheepishly and sitting up straighter in her bed. "Will you tell me about some of these places?"

"Sure," John said, flipping through the magazine, looking for landmarks of interest. He leaned closer so that she could look over his shoulder. He paused at a night shot of the Eiffel Tower, describing its history. He told her about his stop-over in Paris and how he and his buddies had gotten drunk on far too much red wine and at nearly midnight, decided to run all the way up the stairs to the top level of the tower. Mitch and Dex had promptly mooned the few tourists on the platform. John had instead grabbed the nearest pretty girl who had been looking at the view with a shorter, not so pretty friend, dipped and dramatically planted a kiss on her, like in the old movies. They were lucky they hadn't been arrested because they had to ship out to the gulf in two days.

John turned the page and then another and stopped when he found a photo spread of the California coast and the Pacific Ocean. He tilted the magazine so that Tosia could better see it. Tapping his finger on the glossy page, he told her that the absolute best surfing he'd ever experienced was on the stretch of coast between Santa Barbara and San Diego. When Tosia looked confused at the term, John got up to demonstrate how exactly one surfed. While miming the motions, and lost in memory, he regaled her all about this one glorious day, nearly ten years ago now. The sun had been baking down on him, and the water was sparking like diamonds and so incredibly blue. It was so spectacular, and the waves had been so perfect that he'd stayed out there all day. He'd only stopped when his legs began shaking with exhaustion, and he could barely stand up anymore. It had been one of the best days in his life, and the fact that he could so effortlessly recall it now, was even better.

Tosia watched and listened with rapt attention, although John wasn't entirely certain she understood half of what he'd told her with all its modern-day Earthly references. He sat back down on the bed beside her, and Tosia leaned tiredly against his arm. He looked at her, worried.

"Tosia? You want me to… to let you rest for a while?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No, John," she said, smiling tiredly. "I am fine. It is just… it is so good to hear the sound of your voice. You are so much like Gaereth... Even more than I imagined," she said, her voice trailing off with a note of wonder and longing.

"I... uh, I wanted you to know..." John said, then stopped, uncertain if he should tell her.

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "Nah... it's okay."

Tosia scowled at him. "John, have we not been through far too much together to be afraid to speak our minds?" she said, her soft voice belying her strong words. "It is all right. Tell me what you began to say."

John nodded, picked up the magazine again and absently flipped through it. "D-do you remember that night… after I messed up my hands?" he said after glancing at a few pages without really seeing their contents.

"Yes, of course, I do."

"I remember that I c-couldn't sleep because my hands were hurting so bad," John paused and looked down at them, at the numerous, crisscrossing scars. "Stupid thing to do..." he added, "but I… I remember that you c-came and… and checked on me. And then you sat beside me and told me about your life. I... I remember what you told me. About being Ascended, b-being sent here as punishment and about Gaereth. It... it probably wasn't easy to talk about all that, but I... appreciate that you did. That you trusted me enough to tell me."

She nodded and an oddly relieved expression came over her tired, battered features. "I _knew_ that you were listening to me. That you could hear me," she whispered, but it seemed as though she were speaking more to herself.

"You must have loved him very much," John said.

"Yes, I did." She nodded again then looked at him intently. "I would like to be laid to rest next to him. Next to Gaereth, by the ruins. I suspect it will be too much for Antal and Lasca, and I know it is much to ask of you, but will... will you see to that for me, John?"

John looked at her surprised. He wanted to protest that she shouldn't be talking like that, that they still had plenty of time to talk about such difficult things, but he could all too clearly see the deep weariness in her eyes. He could see how thin and wasted her already small frame was. Finally, he held her intense gaze and had to clear his throat before he could speak. "I will. I… I promise."

Tosia nodded, satisfied. "It is strange that I hated this place of my exile so much and now... it is where I belong."

"Do... do you think that..." John shook his head, frustrated and tried to get his brain and mouth in synch. "I sometimes wonder if... maybe I was sent through that portal... a-as punishment, too."

Tosia sat up straighter. "Why would you think such a thing?" she questioned. "What could you possibly have done to deserve that?"

John shrugged and smirked. "Want a list?"

"No, I do not," Tosia said, shaking her head and suddenly taking hold of his arm in a fierce grip. "You are a _good_ man, John. Do not ever think anything less of yourself, do you understand?" she said firmly, leaving no room for argument. She glared at him until he reluctantly nodded. "You were _not_ sent here as punishment, you were sent here to help my people. That is the _only_ reason. I am very sorry that you had to go through what you did," she said squeezing his arm before releasing him, "but I am not sorry to have met you."

"I'm not sorry, either," he said softly and truthfully.

Tosia shifted against the pillows, her face creasing with pain.

John hesitantly touched her shoulder. "Tosia?"

Tosia waved off his concern then reached for a bottle of pills on the table. John poured some water from the jug into a wooden cup and handed it to her. She nodded in thanks, sat up and swung her legs over the edge, wobbling alarmingly. When John gave her another worried look, she shook her head. "Do not fuss. I have had enough of it from Lasca and Antal."

"Sorry," he said, wincing and understanding all too well. "I hate being fussed over, too. You should see Carson and Rodney a-around me. I'm g-getting ready to shoot both of them."

Tosia cackled and took another sip from the cup before setting it back down. "I had never expected this whole business of dying to be so infernally tiresome," she said, scowling with pain and irritation.

John gave her a sympathetic look. "Well... I'm planning on going down with m-my boots on. Preferably crashing and burning in s-some awesome, alien fighter jet."

"Do not talk like that, John," Tosia reprimanded. "Life is short enough for you as it is."

" I'm talking w-when I'm ninety, or something," he amended. "Crashing and…and burning when trying to fly at that age is p-pretty much inevitable." Tosia laughed again at that. "B-but rest assured, I _can_ fly anything," he added, flashing her a cocky grin, "one of the best pilots a-around, in fact. It's the only… reason I d-didn't get booted from the military a long t-time ago."

"I envy you that freedom," Tosia said, smiling wistfully. "To be able to just fly when you wish to and see the ground rushing below you. So wonderfully free... I would have liked to have seen you behind the helm of a gateship."

John saw the longing in her eyes, the same longing he had now, that he'd had for his entire life, really. To just fly and nothing else mattered but controls in your hands and the open sky surrounding you. He looked at Tosia and waited until she met his gaze.

"You want to go for a ride?" he said, casting her a mischievous, hopeful glance.

Tosia looked back at him and chuckled a little. Then she saw something in his expression, something that made her pause and her eyes widened. "You are serious?"

John raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Absolutely."

Tosia seemed to think it over a moment, then clapped her hands together like a young girl. "Yes!" she said, matching his smile with a startlingly radiant one of her own. "Yes, I would like that very much."

John sprang to his feet. He unclipped his radio from his ear and tossed it onto the table. "Okay – be right back," he said over his shoulder as he darted from the room. He rushed to the front door, opened it and ducked his head outside. There was no one in sight. Everyone was probably and hopefully in the village center.

Grabbing Tosia's cloak, John rushed back to the bedroom while pulling on his own jacket. Tosia was standing, leaning shakily up against the bed and looking around for her clothes. John instead helped her put on the cloak over her nightshirt. He gathered up the blankets and wrapped them snugly around her. Then he carefully lifted her, cradling her in his arms, astonished by how light she was. Tosia clung to his neck, her eyes bright with excitement.

Carrying his fragile burden, John carefully stepped outside into the icy air. _I'm never gonna hear the end of this,_ he thought, but at the same time, he didn't care. After all, he'd never been one to worry about the consequences and he wasn't about to start now. Tosia huddled deeper in the warm blankets, resting her head against his shoulder, relaxed and completely trusting.

"I'm not really s-supposed to be doing this, you know..." John said. "So if we see anyone..."

Tosia laughed. "Then it will be our secret, yes?"

"Exactly," John said. "We'll t-tell them you wanted a last chance to… to kick Silas's ass, and I was gonna help you do it."

Tosia chuckled at that, and they made the rest of their way to the jumper in silence. John couldn't help praying that no one would be hovering around it. But they were in luck again – the area was completely deserted. He hoped to hell that Rodney and the Daedalus crew were putting on a show entertaining enough to keep the villagers occupied for a good while longer.

When John approached the jumper, the back hatch opened even as he thought of it, and they stepped inside. The door closed and he immediately cloaked the ship. Very carefully, he set Tosia down in the co-pilot seat. She was trembling a little, and crouching down beside her, John looked into her eyes.

"Tosia? Are you okay?" he asked. "We don't have to do this—"

Tosia narrowed her eyes at him. Freeing her hands from the thick blankets, she slapped his arm. "If you back out of this now, John, I shall never forgive you." With a barely suppressed wince, she sat up straighter, pulling the blankets snug around her. "You promised me a ride in this jumper and that is exactly what I expect."

John grinned and sprang to his feet. "All right!" He rubbed his hands together as though in gleeful anticipation. "Now, you h-haven't ridden in a jumper until you've r-ridden with _me_ in the pilot's seat."

Tosia raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Well, stop your boasting and start flying."

"Yes, ma'am," John said, hopping into the pilot's chair. "N-never keep a lady waiting."

Like revisiting an old friend, John passed his hands over the familiar controls, and the ship obediently and fluidly rose into the air. It tilted gently to one side and he angled the craft to head towards the snow-covered cliffs that sparked even in the tepid sunlight. The ground passed beneath them in varying shades of whites and grays.

"Go... faster, John," Tosia said, breathless, wheezing slightly. He looked at her alarmed but she waved it off. "Come now. Show me some of this impressive skill of yours."

"Okay," he said, and with the merest thought, the ship began to pick up speed, the blanket of snow beneath them becoming a rushing blur. He let the jumper coast and the white ground and the cloudless sky blended seamlessly into one another.

"Oh... now _this_ is wonderful," Tosia breathed out, laughing again, weakly, but joyfully, her eyes fixed on the pale horizon. "Go higher... keep flying, John... just for a while longer," she said, looking to him, her eyes bright with happiness and gratitude.

"We'll g-go for as long as you want," he assured her. He took the jumper higher and higher, bringing it into a very gentle loop and then again, the inertial dampeners and John's near symbiosis with the craft keeping their ride smooth as silk. They could no longer see the ground from this high. Everything was cast in shades of delicate yellows and the palest pinks, the winter sun a low, gleaming ball of white.

"It is so beautiful, Gaereth," Tosia whispered, her gaze fixed on the vast, open sky, at the expanse of freedom before her.

John kept flying, slowly decreasing altitude until they could clearly see the cliffs again. It was probably time to head back, he thought, even as reluctant as he was to do so. He knew that Rodney was absolutely going to freak on them and could just imagine the impending tirade.

John glanced over at Tosia. Her eyes were half-closed and for a moment, he thought she had fallen asleep. Then he realized that the sounds of her labored breathing had stopped. She was still, so unnaturally still. John's heart pounded with sudden fear, with terrible understanding. He quickly set the jumper to auto-pilot mode and darted from his chair to crouch in front of her. Tosia's chest was still, her head tilted slightly to one side, hands slack in her lap. She was gone.

"Oh no... Tosia..." John breathed out. "Dammit..." He sat there a moment, stunned, and then he noticed the faint, but distinct smile on her face. Her expression was calm and so serene and that offered him a small measure of consolation. He blinked back tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes. He hoped that she was at peace that she was somehow with Gaereth again. He took hold of her frail, still warm hands. He held them a moment in his, then very carefully tucked them under the blanket. He brushed a few stray strands of long hair from her face and gently pressed his hand over her eyelids, closing them.

Whispering a soft prayer under his breath, John watched her still face for a long moment. He thought of the thousands and thousands of years of experience, knowledge and wisdom that she had possessed, and save what may remain in the portal, were now forever gone. Even more so, he had lost yet another friend he had come to love and that was the hardest part to face. But he had some of those memories of hers, for he knew in his heart that the ones of a vibrant and long-ago Atlantis were all Tosia's. And maybe, in a way it was good that he could still see them. Maybe a part of her would live on through him that way.

Taking a few deep, shuddery breaths, he stood and went back to the pilot's seat. With trembling hands, he took control of the jumper again and let her loose. High over the village, the frozen-over lake and the cliffs that kept blurring into a watery haze no matter how many times he swiped his hand over his eyes. He went faster and faster until the ground was nothing but an endless white sheet beneath him. He allowed his mind to tune out, and he just flew, that perfect freedom washing over him.

He hoped that Tosia was free now, too. To go wherever she wanted to. She deserved that, he thought as he passed the ship over the cliffs for one more time, for just a little longer.

---tbc---

* * *

_Only an epilogue to go after this, so please do stayed tuned..._


	23. Chapter 23 Epilogue

* * *

John sat in Tosia's worn, old chair by the crackling fire, trying to stay out of the way of the small group of villagers that were crowded into the small hut, offering their condolences and support to Lasca and Antal. It was strange not to see Tosia in this very place. Of all the fractured memories John had of her, in most of them, she'd been sitting in this chair, by this warm hearth.

Trying his best to be equally unobtrusive, Rodney stood off to the side of John, leaning up against the wall, his arms tightly folded across his chest, his mouth pressed in a hard, angry line. John knew that Rodney was pissed at him. So pissed in fact, that he had scarcely spoken a word to John since he had returned the jumper and carried Tosia's body back to the hut to find everyone waiting for them.

Lasca, surprisingly, hadn't been upset with him. Once she had recovered from the initial shock of her mother's death and once John had explained what happened, Lasca told him how much Tosia had enjoyed her journey from the great city back to this land. How marvelous it had been for her. Lasca then tearfully reassured him that Tosia would not have wanted to leave this life any other way. The reassurances had helped ease the sense of remorse that John couldn't help, but did nothing to ease the terrible sting of loss.

John glanced up when the villagers slowly began to take their leave, talking quietly amongst themselves. Finally, the door shut with a solid thump, and John and Rodney were left alone with Lasca and Antal for the moment.

"Sheppard," Rodney said in a flat, low voice. "Can I talk to you outside a minute?"

John didn't look at his friend, knowing what was coming and knowing he couldn't avoid it. Rodney wasn't going to be quite so forgiving. John watched the bright yellow and orange flames, enjoying the comforting warmth for a moment longer, then nodded and pulled himself to his feet. Rodney strode ahead of him, and without waiting to see if John was following, pulled on his jacket and stepped outside into the cold blustery air. Grabbing his own jacket from the hook and pulling it on, John reluctantly stepped outside after him. Rodney stopped after a few brisk paces and looked up at the sky when snowflakes caught in his thick eyelashes. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the barn and without a word, strode to it.

John followed and closed the doors behind him but they still rattled with the force of the wind. "So are y-you planning on giving me a stern talking to, or am I in for s-something a lot worse?" he joked as he turned to face Rodney.

"Don't tempt me," Rodney said tightly, glaring at him.

"You'll _try,"_ John said, raising an eyebrow. "Look, Rodney, I know you're mad as hell a-at me, but can we s-save this for later?"

"No, no we can't!" Rodney shouted, and at once, John realized that Rodney was beyond angry, he was furious. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?! For Christ's sakes, Sheppard!"

Unprepared for the verbal assault and still reeling from the torrent of emotions of the past few hours, John blinked and unconsciously and protectively folded his arms over his chest. He looked away from Rodney's startling fury and down at the hay covered ground.

"Oh, no… wait," Rodney corrected himself without waiting for John's reply or attention. "I forgot that you probably _weren't_ thinking, were you? I _still_ can't believe you did that! You were under strict orders _not_ to fly a jumper! Or, did you conveniently forget that fact? Huh? You both could have—"

"Rodney, despite what doc says," John finally broke in, his own anger beginning to take hold, "I am perfectly c-capable of flying a jumper. I wouldn't have _done_ it otherwise. I'm _fine."_

"That's just it, Sheppard," Rodney said, glaring at him. "You are _not_ fine. You are so far from being 'fine,' that it's almost pointless to have this conversation with you!"

"In that case," John shot back, "I'll just go back inside where it's a lot warmer." He turned toward the doors. Before he had taken even a few steps, Rodney grabbed John's arm and spun him back around to face him. John stared at Rodney in astonishment and outrage. "What the _hell?"_

"We are _not_ done here yet!" Rodney shouted, pointing a finger in John's face.

"McKay j-just lay off!" John slapped Rodney's hand away.

"No!" Rodney said, his voice raising an octave. "We are due back home in three hours and tell me… what the hell am I supposed to say to Beckett? To Elizabeth? Huh?"

"You don't have to say _anything." _John said, narrowing his eyes at Rodney. "I-I'll take full responsibility for m-my own actions."

"See, that's what you're not getting, John. _I'm_ responsible for your actions right now," Rodney corrected, pointing at himself. _"I'm_ in charge of overseeing this mission, and _I_ left you alone with Tosia thinking that the two of you would be having a nice, little chat about the weather, or what's new in Paranoid Village, instead of sneaking off, stealing a jumper and going for a fucking joy ride!"

"Rodney, back off, dammit!" John shouted, all attempts at retaining control of his emotions completely lost. He clenched his hands into tight fists. "Just back the hell off... or – or—"

"Or what?" Rodney said, placing his hands indignantly on his hips. "You'll kick my ass? You'll run away from dealing with this? Huh?"

_Bastard,_ John thought. Rodney knew exactly which buttons to push. John could now no longer walk away from Rodney and this ridiculous conversation any more than he could turn back time.

Breathing hard, Rodney held John's furious scowl a moment before speaking again. "Do you think we spent all that time looking for you, worrying about you and nursing your skinny catatonic ass back to relative normalcy only for you to nearly kill yourself crashing a jumper?"

_"That's_ what th-this is about?" John said, incredulous. "My _safety?" _He tore a hand through his hair and nearly laughed."Stop t-treating me like I'm some damned invalid! There's _nothing_ wrong with me anymore!_"_

"Nothing other than that stubborn do whatever the hell I want and _screw_ the consequences attitude you have going on!" Rodney countered, pacing in a tight, furious circle.

"She just wanted to go for a ride, Rodney," John said, and to his horror, his voice broke on that, sudden tears filling his eyes. "It was m-my idea, but I – I didn't…" He ducked his head, held his breath a moment to suppress any further tears. "Can we... I don't need to h-hear this right now, okay?" he said in a near whisper, and wiped his sleeve over his face, hoping Rodney wouldn't notice.

Rodney stopped pacing to stare at him but John kept his gaze averted. "I bet she loved it, huh?" Rodney said after a long, silent moment, his voice suddenly and surprisingly gentle.

John looked up at his friend. _Go higher, John, go faster, _Tosia's weak, but joyful voice echoed in his memory.He blinked back the persistent, infuriating tears and nodded. "Yeah... she did."

"Well, of all the stupid, insubordinate stunts that you've pulled over the years, I'll have to admit that was... actually one of your finer moments," Rodney said in sudden, quiet admiration, his blue eyes bright with threatening tears of his own.

Despite the tightness in his chest and his burning eyes, John couldn't help but laugh softly at that. "Was that a c-compliment or an insult?"

"Both."

John nodded and took a deep breath. "That's w-what I thought."

"You do know that you are _so_ in for it when we get back home, don't you?" Rodney said. "Not that I'm going to be the one to say anything, but Lorne... he _has_ to file a mission report. And you do realize that just because you went seriously looney tunes not so long ago, doesn't mean that Elizabeth won't tear you a new one. And believe me, you don't want to be on the receiving end of one of her more furious rants. And Beckett... never piss off a Scotsman – it's not pretty."

John shrugged, feigning unconcern. "I c-can deal with Elizabeth and Carson."

"Hah, yeah, right." Rodney looked at him, pondering. "I suppose we can always say that you had a temporary relapse and the Ancients in your head told you to do it," he said in what John recognized as a peace offering.

Even still, John's heart skipped a beat, and he shuddered at the possibility that his mind could still so easily retreat back to that terrifying, dark place. No, he wasn't going to think of that. Not when he was barely hanging on by his newly healed fingernails. Not after he'd worked so hard to prove to everyone that he was fully back to himself again.

"Hey, still with me, or are you really going back to la-la land?" Rodney's voice broke through John's thoughts, and had his friend not spoken the words with such concern, John thought that he would probably have lost it again. "I mean," Rodney added, worried, "I was just joking about that. We don't actually want any _real_ relapses."

"I'm still with you," John said, barely keeping the fear from his voice. "I just… I just want e-everything to get back to normal. I just want to – to _be_ normal again."

"Okay," Rodney said in that same, disconcertingly gentle voice that made John feel as though maybe he hadn't come as far along in his recovery as he'd thought. Rodney watched him a moment, then shrugged. "I hate to break to this you, Sheppard, but you've _never_ been normal."

John snorted and Rodney gave him a smug smile and in that moment, everything felt a little better. _Almost_ normal, even, John thought wryly.

"And I actually wouldn't worry too much about Carson and Elizabeth," Rodney added with another shrug. "You can probably get away with just about anything with them right now."

"Rodney..." John took a deep breath. He hadn't planned to bring this up until later, but now seemed as good a time as any. Bracing himself for another tirade from his friend, he plunged ahead. "I... I want to stay here until tomorrow. F-for the memorial service."

Rodney blinked at him. _"What?"_

"I promised Tosia that I'd s-see to it that she's buried b-beside Gaereth, and I can't go back on that," he said quietly.

"Oh, for..." Rodney tore a hand through his hair and started pacing again. "That's tomorrow already?"

"Yeah," John said. "I figure I'm in enough shit with everyone as it is, so why not make it worth it and stay a while longer? I think Lasca and Antal would like it if we stayed, too."

Rodney thought a moment, then nodded. "Yes, yes, of course we have to stay." He waved a dismissive hand at John when he blinked at him, surprised at how easy that was. "Don't worry about it. I'll clear it with Lorne."

"Thanks, Rodney," John said, finding himself too grateful to say much more than that.

'Yeah, well," Rodney looked down at his boots and cleared his throat. "I, uh… sorta liked her, too."

They both jumped when the barn doors swung open. Antal poked his head inside to peer worriedly at them. "Are you fighting? Mother thinks you might be fighting," he said, then stepped all the way inside. "And if you are, mother says for me to tell you to stop it and to drag you both back inside if I have to."

Rodney looked at Antal's huge arms and quickly shook his head. "No, no, not fighting. We're just... _talking."_

Antal gave him a skeptical look. "Well, for a while, you were talking very _loud."_

"We're okay now, Antal," John said, giving the young man a reassuring smile, then shot Rodney a warning glance. "Right, McKay?"

"Right." Rodney nodded, flashing Antal a false, cheery smile. "Getting along swimmingly," he added as he roughly mussed up John's hair.

John scowled and smacked Rodney on the arm. Ignoring his friend's indignant yelp, John ran a hand through his hair, trying unsuccessfully to smooth it down and looked back to Antal. "I'm ready to go back inside now anyway."

Antal nodded, relieved, his eyes swollen and puffy from tears. John stepped close beside the young man and gently laid a hand on his shoulder as they walked back to the warm house. Antal leaned a little against him accepting the offer of comfort.

---A---

John stood a few feet from Tosia's graveside, huddling deeper in his jacket against the early morning cold. Even though it was snowing heavily and the memorial took place in the ruins, the place the villagers all so greatly feared, every single one of them had come. As Lasca and Antal had looked around at all of them, their expressions wavering between bewilderment and thankfulness, John was grateful for the villagers' support. It also spoke volumes of the affection and respect Tosia had commanded of her people.

Kornel had given the simple, but heartfelt eulogy, and then Rodney, with quiet solemnity, spoke a few carefully chosen words of his own. When he spoke of Tosia's extraordinary life, her vast, unfathomable knowledge, experience and most importantly, her generous spirit, the real meaning of what he said was lost on everyone but John. If Tosia could somehow see and hear this, John was glad for her sake, too.

When the service was over, the large crowd slowly disbursed and began heading back to the village, their postures hunched against the blowing snow and sadness. The air was so cold that John's face was numb and he could barely feel his toes, but he wasn't ready to leave yet. He looked over to Lasca kneeling beside the small, rock-covered grave and weeping quietly into her hands. Antal was at her side, his arm around his mother, tears rolling down his gentle face. Rodney stood back, close beside John, but his gaze was fixed on the grave, as well. It was hard to believe that the small cairn was the last of the strong, determined woman they had come to know and care about so much.

Looking down at his near frozen feet and wiggling his numb toes, John glanced back in the direction of the ruins themselves. He scarcely remembered digging so frantically and so desperately in that hard ground, but he remembered all too clearly the urgent need to find his way home. It was strange how his and Tosia's paths had become so interconnected. Not for the first time, John wondered at the inexplicable turn his life had taken ever since he'd sat down in that chair back in the Antarctica. Sometimes, it even seemed as though all the events in his life had occurred for that one defining moment to take place. John didn't like to think that he was controlled by some preordained destiny, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder. It couldn't all be random coincidence, could it? Maybe some of it was meant to be, and maybe some things just happened because you were in the right place at the right time. And maybe it was best not to think on such things too much. Maybe it was best to just live your life one moment at a time and see where it took you. A motto that had taken him this far and left him relatively intact, so why mess with that?

Thick, heavy homemade boots came into John's line of sight and he glanced up at the owner of them. Anger immediately stole over him and he clenched his gloved fists. Rodney looked up, too, moving to come closer, but John waved him off. Rodney stopped, but stood tensed, watching closely.

"What do you want, Silas?" John said, relieved that it had come out without a stammer. Silas's face was marred with fading technicolor bruises and John wondered what had caused them. The other man studied him, chewing on a soggy looking twig, then shuffled his feet in the deep snow. He looked over to the small grave.

"Tosia..." Silas began, uncertain. He loudly cleared his throat, his features pinched with discomfort, and John was amazed that the man actually seemed contrite. "She and I had our differences, there is no doubt about that," Silas continued, "but she was a fine woman."

"Yes, she was," John agreed in a tight voice.

Silas nodded, pursing his lips, studying John with an appraising, unkind stare. "I was only trying to protect my people. It was nothing personal against you."

John wasn't certain what to say to that. He slanted a narrowed glance at the man. "I don't know, Silas... it f-felt pretty damn personal to me."

"All's I'm saying is I made a mistake and we judged you unfairly," Silas said in a short, gruff tone. "Your tribe has been most generous to all of us." With that, he turned and strode away.

"What the hell was _that_ all about?" Rodney said, suddenly beside John.

"I think he just sort of a-apologized to me," John said.

"What? You're kidding me!" Rodney looked to find Silas, but the man had quickly disappeared amidst the crowd. "Ah, he's probably just scared that Ronon will come back and kick his ass again."

_"Ronon_ did that?" John said, touching his own face to suggest the numerous bruises.

""Yep." Rodney bounced on the toes of his boots. "But you didn't hear it from me."

John smirked. "Remind me to give him a beer when we get home."

Rodney looked at John, hopeful. "Can... can I have a beer, too? I _would_ have kicked his ass for you, but he's a lot bigger than me, and since I was a little busy playing negotiator—"

"Yes, Rodney," John said, rolling his eyes. "You can have one, too. We'll all have a John Sheppard's Return to Sanity Party."

John turned to look at Lasca when he heard Antal quietly and worriedly murmuring words of reassurance to his mother. Lasca was now rocking and hugging herself against the growing cold, helplessly sobbing while Antal awkwardly patted her shoulder. John went over to her, and Antal looked up at him, grateful.

"Hey, Lasca," John said, crouching beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "We sh-should probably head back now. It's getting pretty c-cold and the sun will be going down soon."

Lasca nodded and swiped her hands over her face. Without looking at John or moving from the graveside, she said, "I never knew my real mother. She died in childbirth. My father died when I was eight years old, and I had no other family, no one to take care of me. When they buried my father, I remember standing by his grave and wondering what would happen to me. But Tosia... she just came up to me, knelt down beside me and asked if I would like to come live with her. She had plenty of room in her home, and she had always enjoyed it when my father and I came to visit her. She made me feel so welcome, so… loved, that I just nodded, followed her home and I..." Lasca choked back another sob. "I cannot believe she is gone."

John looked down, blinking hard. Sometimes there wasn't anything to say that would makes things any better, so he just slid his arm over Lasca's shoulders and gently coaxed her to stand. Lasca leaned heavily against him. He wrapped his arms around her in a gentle embrace, and she clung to him, shaking with both cold and the force of her tears.

"We're going to be all right, though?" she whispered against his neck. "All of us?"

"Yeah, we are," John said as reassurance for Lasca and himself, even.

After a moment, Lasca pulled back, wiped her face and looked at him, hesitant. "Antal and I..." she began. John nodded, encouraging her to continue. She took a deep breath and blurted, "We have decided that we will go the mainland, after all."

"That's great," John said, giving her a surprised smile.

Lasca took another shuddering breath and turned to look at her son. Rodney had gone over to the younger man, and John smiled a little when he saw that Rodney was teaching Antal how to play rock paper scissors.

"They... they will not judge Antal, will they?" Lasca said, looking back to John.

"Not if _I_ have anything to say about it," John said scowling, and Lasca gave him a worried look. "I mean... they'll love him," he corrected. "The Athosians have b-been through a lot and they know a good man when they see one. You both will be happy there, I promise."

Lasca nodded, relieved. "I have to admit... I am not nearly as brave as Tosia was..." she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "In truth, I am terrified to leave here, but I know that is what she wanted for us."

John frowned at that and took her hands in his. "Tosia would be very proud of you for doing this… but s-she'd want you t-to make this decision for yourself and Antal, not for her."

Lasca looked at him for a long time, as though summoning strength from him. "I want to, she said after a moment, jutting her chin with determination, "and I want a better life for Antal. Will you... let us know when you have a... another ship ready?"

"Are you kidding?" John said. "You and Antal g-get the special express route, full meal deal." When Lasca frowned in confusion, he added, "that means, we'll take you there personally. Me and Rodney, w-when we go back home tomorrow… i-if you want?"

Lasca smiled and blushed. "I was... hoping you would say that. We will be ready to leave when you are."

---A---

As promised, Lasca and Antal were ready to leave the next morning. She and Antal had spent much of the previous night packing and sorting through their few belongings. Rodney and John had laid out their bedrolls by the hearth, playing endless games of poker and staying out of their way, allowing the two the time to say goodbye to their home. Other than Atlantis, John had never lived in one place long enough to grow attached to it, but he understood full well how difficult it was to leave everything you knew behind.

Though it was still early and the sun was just coming up, Lasca and Antal made their way to the village to say goodbye to their remaining friends. John and Rodney went on ahead to meet the jumper by the ruins, both of them carrying a few sacks of their passengers' meager belongings. They only had to wait a few minutes in the cold air and then Lorne arrived almost precisely on schedule. John was both pleased and surprised that Teyla and Ronon had this time accompanied the major. It was almost like getting back to normal – John and his team, off-world again.

While they waited for Lasca and Antal to join them, John wandered away from his teammates and stepped up to the single stone marker. He crouched down to brush away the freshly fallen snow. There were two names on the gravestone now. Just before the memorial, John and Rodney had helped Antal painstakingly carve Tosia's name under Gaereth's. The newly-carved letters were a little crooked, but John didn't think that Tosia or Gaereth, from what he'd heard of him, would mind. He looked down at the grave now blanketed in snow and wished them both peace. He gazed around the desolate landscape one final time, for he knew he would not likely be returning here. A shadow came into his peripheral vision and he turned to see Rodney coming up behind him, holding a bouquet of wildflowers in varying shades of delicate pinks. John looked at him questioningly.

Rodney shot him a warning look. "Don't start."

John shook his head and looked around the bleak landscape. "No... I mean... where did you _get_ those?"

Rodney glanced down at the flowers, shrugging. "I uh... asked Teyla to bring them. They're indigenous to the mainland, but Katie has also been growing them in her nursery on Atlantis. Tosia... well, she uh... told me that she liked the mainland in the springtime the best, and these always bloom in the spring, and... and you're supposed to bring flowers when you visit someone's grave, so just shut up."

Blushing to the tips of his ears, Rodney set the bouquet down in the snow and awkwardly fluffed up the slightly wilted leaves. "I'm probably going to sneeze my head off now, or break out in hives," he muttered under his breath. He swiped his hand under his nose, then trotted back to the jumper, leaving John staring in wordless astonishment at his friend. John looked back at the flowers, at their fragile, transitory beauty, the pink standing out in bright relief against the harsh white and gray backdrop. He shook his head and smiled. Rodney never ceased to surprise him.

Lasca and Antal arrived a short time later and paid their own visit to Tosia's final resting place. Lasca marveled over the flowers, stooping to pick up one blossom that had fallen to the snowy ground. She held it carefully in her hand, as though it were a fragile bird that would take flight at any moment. When they were ready, John led them to the jumper where his team was already waiting. He helped settle their two passengers in the seats behind the pilot and copilot. John then took the copilot's seat without fuss, more for Lasca and Antal's sake than any acquiescence to his ridiculous 'unfit for active duty' status.

Lorne settled in the pilot's seat and the ship slowly rose in the air. Lasca let out a little squeak of terror, and Antal grinned from ear to ear.

"What do you think, guys?" John grinned, turning to look at them.

Antal gave him a happy thumbs-up, while Lasca only nodded, looking a little green.

The ship quickly reached the edge of the planet's atmosphere, and John braced himself for the shield. He turned back to their passengers again. "Hang on guys, it's a little rough a-at this part, but it's okay. We'll be absolutely fine."

Lasca nodded quickly and reached for Antal's hand, gripping it tightly. The ship headed into the area contained by the shield. John glanced at Lorne who gripped the controls with fierce concentration. The ship continued its path and then the stars were visible and they were in space.

"What the hell...?" John breathed out, at the same time that Rodney darted to the cockpit, leaning against the back of John's seat.

"Where's the shield?" Rodney demanded, staring at the unobstructed stars with wide eyes.

Lorne darted a glance at the two of them and shook his head. "I don't know... It was right here when we came to pick you up."

"Turn it around," John said.

"What?" Rodney and Lorne both said at the same time.

"Turn her around! Go back..." John said, staring at the digital control panel that popped up in front of his eyes even as he thought of it. "Maybe... we missed it somehow."

"Missed it?" Rodney echoed. "How the hell can we miss it? It's pretty damn hard not to notice!"

"I don't know..." John said, just as perplexed. He stood and impatiently waved at Lorne to get out of the pilot's seat. Lorne opened his mouth to protest but John stared at him with such steely determination that the other man immediately backed down. He slid over to John's previously occupied seat and dropped into it. John took control of the helm, turned the ship around in a wide, smooth arc. They passed back into the planet's atmosphere without a hitch. John kept going until they could see the white-blue of the sky.

"The shield's gone..." Rodney breathed out.

John nodded and turned around again. They headed back into space, and once more, their passage was smooth, unimpeded.

"Tosia... she was the last of them..." John said softly, almost to himself. He thought of that night when she'd told him about her past and how the Ascendeds had put the shield in place to both hide and protect the banished ones. Was it possible that because none of them were left, the other Ascendeds no longer saw any reason to keep the shield in place? "Do you think... n-now that she's gone..." John trailed off, uncertain what he wanted to say, and what he even _should_ say in front of Lasca and Antal.

Rodney looked at him, then nodded, understanding without John having to say anything further. "Yeah. I think that's exactly what happened."

"What is it?" Lasca said leaning forward, looking fearfully back and forth between the two of them. "What is the matter?"

"N-nothing..." John quickly reassured her. "It's okay." He exchanged another look with Rodney who nodded and went back to his seat. John kept on flying.

They reached the mainland in less than an hour. John set the ship down close to the Athosian village. In an odd deja vu of the planet they'd just left, a group of children ran up to them, laughing and waving.

The team, along with their bewildered passengers, stepped outside and the similarities ended there. The sun shone warm and bright down on them, and fresh green grass poked up through the dead straw of winter.

Lasca stepped up beside John, looking all around in wonderment. "Oh, it is so beautiful..." She took in a sharp breath. "I wish... I wish that Tosia could have been here to see this, too."

"Yeah, me, too," John said softly, and Lasca blinked back renewed tears. Teyla stepped forward and with a gentle and welcoming smile, took hold of the other woman's arm and began leading her and Antal into the village. The Athosians came from their tents and makeshift homes to warmly greet them and Teyla introduced the two newcomers to everyone. Lorne shrugged and then went to join them.

John instead hung back. Usually he enjoyed visiting with the Athosians as well, but right now, he was still feeling too out of sorts to be very sociable. Besides, there was something that he wanted to do, before he got home and Carson grounded him indefinitely. Something that hadn't become a concrete idea until he'd set foot here. Something he needed to see once more. It took a moment until he noticed that Rodney and Ronon were looking at him questioningly.

"I'm just... gonna take a walk," John said as casually as he could.

"A walk? Now?" Rodney said, perplexed, while Ronon gave John a suspicious look.

"Yes, a walk, guys." John mimed a walking motion with his fingers. "You know… w-walk, meander, take a-a leisurely stroll. Besides, I haven't had one minute alone what with all of you hovering o-over me all the time."

Rodney shook his head and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Nonono... I know you... You're going to take a look at the portal, aren't you?"

John bit back a curse. _Was the man freaking psychic now?_ he thought with frustration. Or more likely, John was probably getting really _bad_ at lying, because everyone seemed to be able to see right through him lately. "N-no..." he said all the same, "I - I was just gonna check out the waves."

"Yeah, right," Rodney said, tilting his head. "How about we just come along with you, anyway."

'Why would you want to go back to the portal, Sheppard?" Ronon asked almost curiously, folding his long arms over his chest.

"I wasn't..." John protested then gave up. "Okay... fine. I j-just want to see it again, that's all." What he didn't tell his friends was that along with all the other scattered memories filling his head, he couldn't stop seeing flashes of the portal itself. Only they were just fractured instances, and he could never see the device clearly. He could remember that terrifying, encapsulating maw of energy he'd been trapped inside for seemingly an eternity. He could remember the instant and overwhelming rush of images and voices in his head. His body could remember all too clearly the terrible, crushing pain, but he couldn't remember what the portal looked like.

But maybe, if he saw it again, in broad daylight with his faculties now reasonably intact, maybe it wouldn't scare him so much anymore. And maybe he'd stop having those damned infuriating flashes of panic every time he thought of the fucking thing, or anything that reminded him of it.

"All right, fine," Rodney said, watching him closely, as though he suspected John of losing it again. "But we all go, or Ronon sits on you until we're ready to go back to Atlantis."

Ronon raised his eyebrows and shrugged as though that was exactly what he intended to do if John tried to make a break for it. John scowled at his friends in frustration. This was something that he wanted to do alone, but he knew it would be pointless to argue with them.

"Okay, fine," he grumbled. "We all go... together. The Three Muskefuckingteers."

John took the lead, stomping ahead of his friends who hung back a little, at least allowing him that much illusion of control. He headed for the small range of rolling hills and the air was so warm that John took off his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. He paused in his steps when he recognized the long shelf of rock nestled in between two long sloping hills.

"If you so much as step within ten feet of that thing, I'll shoot you," Rodney threatened behind him.

John shot him a look over his shoulder. "And h-how is that any less harmful to m-my physical well-being?"

"You know what I mean... just... stay a safe distance, all right?"

John nodded, his eyes fixed on the ledge. His heart hammered, his mouth went dry, and his limbs were suddenly as leaden as though he were trapped in that powerful mass of energy all over again. Echoes of the faces and screaming voices filled his head. He realized that he was shaking a little, but he took a few steps closer. He stopped when he felt a large hand tugging on the back of his sweater, holding him back.

"Sheppard..." Ronon's warning voice rumbled behind him and John nodded absently, standing in place, unable to tear his mind from the rocky surface. _Something's wrong,_ he thought. _Something's missing..._

Rodney continued on though, stepping up close to the rough archway. "I don't believe this," he breathed out, running his fingers along the stone.

"What?" Ronon said, keeping one hand firm on John's back.

"It's gone..." Rodney said, looking back to them.

John blinked and took a deep breath. "The _portal's_ gone?"

"Yes, that's what I mean by 'it's gone'!" Rodney snapped.

John frowned and stepped beside Rodney, Ronon close behind him. John looked at where the control panel used to be, where the portal used to be, but there was nothing, not even a trace of it. No way of telling it had even existed.

"The shield and now the portal..." John whispered, unconsciously glancing up at the sky, then cursed under his breath for being ridiculous. _The Ascendeds aren't hovering over you like voyeuristic celestial angels, you idiot..._ he told himself, _or… or are they?_

"They took it," Rodney said simply.

"Do you... do you think they've been watching all along?" John couldn't help asking.

Rodney nodded. "Oh, yeah. That's apparently what they do."

John looked back to the rock face. "I don't mind so m-much that they took the damned portal," he said truthfully – and somehow, knowing it was gone was almost better than seeing it again – "b-but they left that planet completely unprotected now. Why would they do that? What d-difference does it make to them? The rest of those villagers not only have to w-worry about freezing and starving to death... _now_ they have to… to worry about the Wraith too?" John shook his head, both perplexed and angry.

"Yeah, well, according to Tosia, the Ascendeds, as a rule, aren't terribly concerned with what happens to humans," Rodney said with a helpless shrug. "They were probably more concerned with the Wraith getting hold of a former Ascended being than those people getting culled. That's probably the only reason they put up that shield in the first place."

John scowled at that, at the same time, hoping the Ascendeds weren't really so callous. He carefully brushed his fingers over the side of the rock where that control panel used to be.

"Hey! Don't do that!" Rodney shouted in alarm and yanked John's hand away. "God, you're worse than a two-year-old. There may be something left over, and _you_ would be just the one to activate it."

John shot Rodney a frustrated look, but still, he stepped back a safe distance, unsure what to make of any of this. He had no words to articulate how he felt about this.

"Come on," Ronon said, jerking his chin in the direction of the Athosian village. "Let's go back. I don't know anything about these Ascendeds or Ancients, but to me, it looks like they just wanted to get rid of all traces of their presence here and on that planet, so let's just leave it at that."

Though it wasn't as simple as that, at the same time, John thought he could live with it. Like Ronon said, all physical traces of what had happened were gone, and it really was over. As they headed back for the village, this time, Ronon took the lead. And when they came nearer, John noticed Lasca talking animatedly with a group of Athosian women, as freely as though she already belonged there. He spotted Antal and recognized some of the villagers from the planet milling about, as well. John thought they looked happy, content even. Antal noticed him at the same time, and bounded over.

"There's an _ocean_ here, John!" he enthused. "Tosia told me all about oceans but I never thought I'd get to see one."

John met Antal's wide grin with a smirk of his own. "It's pretty cool, isn't it?"

Antal blinked at him, then nodded. "It _does_ look a little cold, but I imagine it's a _lot_ warmer than the lake back home."

John couldn't help laughing at that. "I bet it is," he agreed then looked at Rodney and Ronon. "Okay, _this_ time… I really _do_ want t-to go check out the beach."

Rodney nodded. "Sure, whatever," he said shrugging casually, as though he hadn't been John's constant, irritating and protective shadow for over a week now. Ronon simply waved his hand at John in a 'go away' gesture, both of them understanding that the request was now a simple need for a little space.

John tipped his head in wordless thanks and gave them both a cheery, bye-bye wave. He began to head in the direction of the shimmering pale sea off in the short distance. He looked back at Antal, motioning for the young man to follow, which he did, breaking out in another happy smile.

"You know... I haven't dusted off m-my surfboard in a long time." John told Antal, then glanced up, squinting at the bright sunshine. "The weather's just about right, and I'm p-probably going to be grounded from duty for the rest of my _life,_ so w-what do you say I come back here in a c-couple of days and we check out those waves?"

Antal cheerfully agreed, even though he probably had no idea what John was talking about. As they walked, John took a few deep breaths, and the air smelled like spring. The sun was warm on his face, and it felt good after being cold for so long. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue and almost as perfect as that long ago day back in California. He stopped walking when they reached the edge of the rocky beach, the waves lapping at his boots. He shielded his eyes from the sun and gazed out at the expanse of glimmering sea. He thought of how close he had come to never seeing this again.

With a loud whoop, Antal suddenly rushed into the water, going in nearly up to his waist, splashing and hopping around like a joyful puppy. John grinned and watched him a moment, then sprinted in after him. Antal laughed and splashed him, getting John right in the face. John shouted in protest, crouched down to scoop up some water in his hands and hurled it at Antal. The young man ducked against the spray, giggling. He flopped backwards with a spectacular splash, nearly soaking John to the skin then floated on his back, happily riding the waves.

John waded in a little deeper and the waves pushed against him, coaxing him along. The water was still icy cold from the vestiges of winter, but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered but this moment. The sea, the warm sun shining down on him and the waves rushing all around him.

It was almost as good as flying.

* * *

--- _finis _---

_Thank you all so much for taking the time to read and for the incredible reviews. __This has been such fun, and until the next story, I bid you all a fond adieu._


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